32F Drama Queen
Relationship Status: Agonisingly single
My profile says I’m a drama queen, but that’s not really true. My life is genuinely harder than everyone else’s, so I wish everyone would stop accusing me of being a whiner. If you had to work eight hours a day five days a week, you’d be devastated, too.
I’m not on Fetlife to date, so seriously, don’t fucking bother. I’m here to flounce, deactivate forever and ever amen, reactivate again, listen to everyone celebrate my return, get everyone to beg me to stay, and then deactivate permanently again.
My life has taught me that being devastated is potentially fatal. I’ve come to realise that I’ve become a powerful person just from surviving the Saw movie that is my existence. I’ve literally died more often than you’ve tied your shoelaces: My mortality rate rises by 67 points every time I mop the floor. Grocery shopping has proven to be just as fatal. Once, I even had a heart attack caused by thinking of maybe dusting the furniture. As you can imagine, all the housework and dying I do has turned my life into a deep and agonising abyss drowning in cinders and tears! I weep and scream just thinking about it. If you had to do housework, you’d be just as distraught.
I’ve known anguish that you’d never survive, especially when it comes to dating, so I’ve taken myself off the market forever and ever amen, just like my last profile deactivation. Last week I ironed my hair for a first date and then it rained. I hid in the restaurant bathroom and wept for six hours. Do you think my date waited for me? Hmm? If it were you, he would have, but it was me, and he abandoned me utterly. My grief! Oh! My grief! I have never been betrayed so horrifically, so I’m never ever dating again. Never ever.
Seriously, a woman can only cope with so much. Then, he called me a drama queen. Imagine! Frizz, swelling, and (totally untrue) insults! He’s lucky I didn’t get lost in the void of my own misery that day or I might have died from my own wretched and infinite emptiness.
This is the fifth millionth time my dates have ended up that way, and my last chocolate bar didn’t make it out of the vending machine, so my life has lost all its meaning.
Somebody kill me now before I die again (literally).
I am leaving Fetlife permanently so that monsters like Jack don’t track me down and ask me out again. I will stay for one hour to give you all time to beg me to stay. Thanks and farewell. No crying. I love you all so much. I really do.
<two hours later>
I’ll be extending my stay by three hours so you can all say goodbye.
<three days later>
Okay, I’ll stay until somebody proves they love me. I’m waiting.