I try to write. Nothing. How do I fill the Match box? After starring at my computer screen for thirty minutes, I decide to do some reconnaissance. First, I have to go undercover. I close the men seeking women and open the women seeking men search. I can now analyze my counterparts’ profiles. Scanning a multitude of masculine faces, wordy histories, physical statistics skewed, hours passing, I compute, grudgingly, that I’m disadvantage. The men on Match were created by an omniscient maker. While I’m intelligent, my maker must have been flawed because I freeze, suffer from viruses, and crash.
, suffer from hackers and virsuse, and viruses, and I am, too. I have suffer glitches and prone to glitches, bugs, and viruses.