I’d rather die a caricature of an old feminist spinster, alone with my with eighteen cats and my giant Ani DiFranco collection, than date this man:
If you can accept that I’m responsible for taking charge and my decisions will be final, don’t take yourself too seriously and thinks the world of me. You must be under 31 (that’s the expiration date for most women anyway), and have good spending habits, no ridiculous credit card debts and a sense of home economy; I’m not planning on changing my excellent lifestyle, and I plant to eventually be able to give my children an excellent education – and that’s not possible without good savings and planning. This will also help teaching them to earn their own achievements, respect their parents, and not be spoiled brats. You should also understand that pets are simple money pits that only serve as something lonely women occupy themselves with so that they don’t have to connect with their husbands. I’m attracted to all kinds of women, redheads, brunettes, black, white, latinas, you name it, as long as they’re attractive. Not attracted to fat women, and that includes the infamous “curvy” (a word that used to mean actual curves, not fat), and “a few extra pounds,” regardless of your supposed “inner beauty.” Sorry
You can read the whole thing (oh yes, there’s more) at Annals of Online Dating, a blog about the vicissitudes of finding a partner – or in this case, of finding a sexist asshole you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole – online.
Bonus round: name the teen movie in which the title of this blog post is spoken… by a caricature of a feminist spinster!