Dearest Douche Bag of Seed,
Thank you so much for allowing my uterus to apply, unbeknownst to me, for the position of bearing your seed. We are most appreciative that you would consider us for this most exciting opportunity, for which I am positive that all women of child-bearing age wish to be selected. I completely understand that this is a time-sensitive matter as you are now in your mid-40s and have yet to fulfill the commandment of populating the earth with as many children as there are stars in heaven. This seems like quite a daunting task and, while I generally try to be a team player and wish I could have assisted you in your efforts to “have it all”, I am a saddened that I dragged my uterus to West Harlem so unprepared. I am most ashamed and disgusted with myself. See, had I know previously what this date was actually for, I would have even brought my own stirrups and laid myself on the restaurant table so you could have a more intimate interview with the real object of the date. I would have even brought my iPad and watched a film to quietly occupy myself while you two were getting better acquainted. Shit, if I had known, I would have even waxed my va-jay-jay for the event to try and really sell the grand entrance to my holy grail and gain your seed’s favor. Nonetheless, I failed miserably and your icy declaration of “Oh, we are in such different places” (code for “Next!”) only 5 minutes and 23 seconds into our meeting still pangs my cervix.
Although I know that my interview opportunity has since passed in such a disgraceful manner, for the sake of other desperate uteruses out there, I implore you to, if I may and out of the utmost respect for your cause, take your seed spreading search off more traditional dating apps and proudly seek to spread your seed via more result-oriented mating apps, such as “PlentyofSeed”, “OKWomb” or, the ever-popular, “LessTalkingMoreSpreading”. May you find success in your efforts to go forth and multiply!
Very truly yours,
Indigo Blue (and my pathetic uterus)