Lyndsay Hall

I would like to take this time to issue a formal apology.

“Without being able to see your cleavage or your smile, I can’t be sure that’s you,” he said.

Today I began an essay: For as long as I have known how to be, I’ve been ashamed of my body. My publications all live within this same confessional territory.

The debate is out on chivalry: have women killed it, lowering their expectations to such distressing lows that no man will bother opening a door for a lady again?

A millennial website recently published an essay arguing the absence of “good girls.” The author defines said girls as those who do not indulge in frivolous, promiscuous escapades, the same escapades exceedingly embraced by our male counterparts.

I joined OKCupid in March under the impression that with an IKEA bed finally built and curtains, however lopsided, securely hung, I was of a maturity that favors a relationship.

So, what has writing for the Internet taught me?

The role I play in his life is replaceable; my stay is transient.

Wait – this is modern dating, right? The game of Text Roulette?

I am oh-so-skilled in making excuses for a man, justifying why he doesn’t call, doesn’t show effort. Men, according to my logic, are just always busy, too busy indeed to send a text asking about my day.

1. If he calls you names, it’s called abuse.

What’s with the stigma?