“Dear Elaine,” she writes. “Should have been a nun. Should have. Would have been a good one too. A good nun. I would have. Instead, instead. I live in the real world. And suffer. It’s those blind dates. My girlfriends. Their fault. It is. Well-meaning. They are. But they set me up. All the time. They do. These blind dates. They say, they say. I’ll thank them for it. (I won’t.) That I need a man in my life. (I don’t.) That I’m lonely. (I’m not.) That I need a husband. (I don’t.) That single is awful. (It’s not.) A blessing. That’s what it is. Single. Truly. It is. For me. Like Friday night. My last blind date. Totally freaked. He did. When I showed him my authentic self. You know. The real me. Hey. I couldn’t help it. Such a cranky guy. He was. So I called him that. Mr. Cranky. I mean. I was just being honest. Authentic. You know? Big mistake. Grabbed me by the neck. He did. Pulled me through the car window. (I kid you not.) Ended up in the middle of Main Street. On my back. His fingers wrapped around my neck. See? Should have been a nun. Should have. But can’t. Not now. Not with Holly. My Yorkie. Sweet Holly. I mean. Who would buy her Milk Bones? Her favorite treat. No. Can’t let Holly down. Can’t. Can’t be a nun. But I can be authentic. And a dog mom. Both. That I can do. Kinda. Sorta. Well. I’m trying.”
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