Clearly been watching too much Game of Thrones. Apologies, your grace, for the abrupt shift of diction.

It’s odd, I have had more than a few female candidates say that they check this space and then remark, with disappointment, that they don’t find themselves mentioned. Are they mad?

Firstly, I would more likely report the results of a colonoscopy than bring here happy tidings of my romance. What kind of space do they think this is? Is my logo– my sigil, if you will– a cherished butterfly or a dove of love? No. Upper right. A snarling, cross eyed crab. This is a place where negativity spills from the mouths of babes so it does not pool and drown them. Where hope threatens to choke on its own regurgitations of disappointment. Where Love shares a table with Santa Claus, Easter Bunny and My Superstar Legal Eagle Career at the annual meeting for the Fictitious Legends of Great Import. Bah.

In any case, if you want anonymous dispatches from my heart, check the secret dating journal.

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