Reading her unending plaints, one concludes that she is deeply in love—with herself, and too loyal ever to cheat with a man. Behind her writing you always hear the little voice, “I’m so wonderful, so elite…why doesn’t somebody marry me?” (Well, Maureen, I can give you a few ideas. You’re a pain in the ass….) “I’m so smart, I’m so powerful, I’m so, sooo elite, so talented, so…special.” As, in their way, are ingrown toenails. “I’m successful, shriek. Men hate me because I’m smart. They feel threatened because I’m so wonderful.”

Actually, Maureen, you are no more threatening, or appealing, than somebody else’s gym socks. I suspect that men don’t like you because you aren’t likeable.

Now, precisely why are you so wonderful? Clearly you aren’t stupid. You are a competent if sophomoric writer. Dummies can’t do that. But I’ll tell you what, Sweet Potato: I don’t think I know anyone who would want to go out with you. As best I can tell, should you have an original thought, it would need counseling, for depression and loneliness.