I can be a real you-know-what sometimes. No matter how many times ChatGPT reminds me that I’ve got to smile warmly and deliver bright and casual one-liners to guys if I want to signal that I’m available for relationships (they call it giving the green light), 95 percent of the time I just can’t bring myself to do those things. Instead, I might burn with my typical red-light Scorpio intensity, which tends to beam man-repellent lasers straight out of my eyeballs. Or I might wince and look away when an attractive stranger makes their approach, because I’m already convinced I would only be boring them or bugging them if I tried to lock eyes while delivering a green-light-worthy smile. Worse, I am liable to spend entire days “hating all men,” after tumbling into the memory swamp of all the romantic burns, rejections, and betrayals I’ve experienced over the last decade. But deep down, dear reader, I assure you that there is a tender and loving soul inside me who longs to be chosen and cherished for exactly who she is — irrational grumpiness, inexplicable introversion, and all. Back to ChatGPT, which scolds me that I ought not to have blind faith in a terrific man’s ability to see the real me, through the muck of all my less-than-desirable traits. Couldn’t you just green-light them a little? my chatbot implores me, cringing at my insistence that my perfect match might actually find some resonant appeal in my prickliness — especially if he can relate to being a grump with a heart of gold, himself. No! is what I pointlessly argue back to Chat. Don’t you even know what faith is? We usually conclude the discussion by politely agreeing to disagree, and I return to my regularly scheduled programming of being a more-or-less happy grump. Someday, I fervently believe, I will have a real-life person to love and resist like this, in equal and perfect measure. ❤️‍🔥—Y.B.D.