The Perfect Life #41 by Dr. Perfect
I’m upset that none of the “Missed Connections” on Craigslist are about me. What’s the point of smiling at every person I see and nod seductively if they’re not even going to reach out?
Dear Lonely Online,
I scour Craigslist too, for used furniture.
“Half off?” he’d say to the clueless stocker at the A&P. “Is that supposed to tickle my fancy? How about you knock off another seventy-five cents?”
“Sir, are you going to buy those Corn Flakes, or can I put them back on the shelf?”
It was always an adventure with my old man.
If I was slighted in such a way by a “missed connection” forum, I’d first contact my local representative. They work for us, right? Naturally, some low-level staffer would take the reins of the issue, only to quietly drop the matter altogether. Some democracy.
My next step would be to seek the advice from the best columnist in town. What I’m trying to say is that you’ve come to the right place. We empathize with readers here, which is something my editor tells me is required in my field. Some might slander you as a loser. Others would tell you to not dwell over such nonsense and enjoy your life before it inevitably ends one day.
Furthermore, you might recall dreams and aspirations from the starlight of your youth that have yet to materialize. But I won’t dwell on any of that. There will be no denigration of your character in this space, a perfect space, for shunned souls awaiting fulfillment through simple twists of fate.
Just because your perceived connection wasn’t officiated through craigslist, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. And you should take comfort in the fact that most supposed “connections” largely go unnoticed and unanswered. It’s a matter of probability. You can’t blame people for trying, though. Odds are, that girl or guy you saw in the Walgreen’s check-out aisle might just follow-up on an anonymous forum the same way I might be given a syndicated talk show.
Most people out and about just want to be left alone, but don’t let that dissuade you. Somewhere, someone is just as desperately lovesick, and those are odds you can bet on, or my name isn’t Dr. Perfect. Coincidentally, I just booked a flight to Vegas. Papa’s gotta buy a new pair of Crocs, about two hundred pairs if I’m lucky.
I’ve always wanted to live in one of those modernist octagon-shaped houses in the California Hills. You’ve seen the in the movies, I’m sure. I’d put an extravagant fish tank in my bedroom right next to the waterbed.