Sometimes i worry that no one will ever procreate with me for fear the children produced would be myopic, asthmatic, narcissistic pseudo-artists with scoliosis and mild psychiatric disorders. I will grow old and die alone, and all the upsides of my genetic make-up will be lost. The trick here is to subtly convince marks, achem, i mean men, that
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markmen needed but for a fleeting moment, though admittedly desirable if preferable longer. lucky takes myriad forms. lucky i am with daughter & her gooddad & my resiliant brain, though likely myself to die sans male, due to what might be described as a decided lack of script and thereby plentitude of disconcerting akward/toomuch-ness.
as to the settle, if you aren't congruently mesmerized, i vote no.
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A Certain Gentleman
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