I go back and forth with my blasted Tinder profile, or even whether to be scouting for love at all. How much should I say about who I am, versus what I’m looking for in a relationship? The dating profile that landed me the man I fell in love with nearly four years ago didn’t even come from me. It was a line I lifted from a British television show (Black Books), from a funny, cynical female character’s dating profile: Intelligent thirtysomething woman seeks solvent man for sex and possible friendship. Sense of humor irrelevant. I wish I could go back to those days, and whatever I did to attract that man, because I miss him terribly, and I’d do just about anything to get the chance to love him again. (Except, I should say, to pretend to be someone I’m not, which is what I used to do.) Alas! Time marches on, and that man has since marched clear out of my life. And so, I find myself in the position, yet again, of wanting to be wildly attractive to not just anyone, and certainly, not everyone, but to just the right man: my True Love match. But the early stages of a relationship are so tricky, and so darned touchy, that one never quite knows how much of oneself to wear on one’s dating profile sleeve. Like, if I took be wildly attractive just being yourself totally literally, I’d be going around letting guys know I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Scorpio (scary) who works out like a machine at the gym (scary intense) and spends her free time at night scouring 40-year-old issues of Cosmo for paper dolls she cuts out and pastes onto homemade postcards, complete with hand-drawn hearts (scary psycho). Can you see the boners shrinking already? Then again, there might just be a bald and bearded Italian beefcake out there who would get a sexy kick out of a crafty bunny like me. As one of my other kooky postcards puts it: there is always hope for True Love. ❤️‍🔥— Y.B.D.