Yes that's satire. Mine is a cutting wit, or at least tetanus on a barbed wire fence. Anyways, my turn to hold the asshole ball.

Wind back to around 2009. Separated on account of... let's just call it "stress," and trying to find a new path in the world. I was running a series of jewelery workshops at the local museum. Something happened a week before the last workshop, and I suspect foul play on the part of the resident artisan jeweler aristocracy, whom I shall not name. Basically, everyone inexplicably and simultaneously cancelled, with the exception of the museum administrator and her sister. I carried through regardless. I, at least, do not renege like that.

The administrator's sister was a red-haired Venus. To this day, (and please forgive me, Fezdani), I don't think I've seen another woman so... uh... abundant in her fair-skinned, sensual softness. Her form defied plausibility. Yes, she was just that sexy. Incredible. And she was there at my workshop, just like that. It was a struggle not to stare, and frankly I'm sure I failed. I tried to keep my attention where it was appropriate, and not... there. And there was so. Much. 'There.' I wanted to see more, but that line of thought was disrespectful and... well, pure fantasy. Onward with the tutorial (Byzantine chain earrings, IIRC).

So. Following the challenging workshop, this vision of desire asked me if I'd like to attend another event at a nearby museum; a tasting event centered on the history of chocolate.

My mind blanked. I just... melted. Impossible. This was something had never had nor ever could happen to... me. The schmuck. The loser. The dweeb trying to make a buck by selling art skills to housewives and bored women with a scrap of disposable income. So I told her... the 'check engine' light n my car was coming on, so I couldn't really travel.

YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

That was the end of the story, except for my shame and regret, and whatever hurt I left that beautiful woman. I don't regret my current relationship one bit (terms and conditions may apply), but I'm so sorry for the message that I sent that girl. I was never good enough. I wish she knew what a mess I was, and that it was never about her worth. I wish that I could go back and tell her, "the truth is that my future lies elsewhere, but you should know: you're not wrong. I think you're a veritable goddess of beauty, and I'm too stunned and lost to respond correctly to your unanticipated, undeserved interest. Me? Really? Can I ever express to you how unworthy I feel for your interest? I hope that some day soon someone more capable and 'with it' will give you the attention your body demands, and the appreciation you deserve. I am not the one, but in a visceral way I envy the one who is."

I'm in the right place. But I got here the wrong way, and I'm sorry. I know there's no chance, but I hope this somehow makes its way to her. She should know how angry I am with myself for the utterly incorrect impression that I gave. May you have all of the love, all of the awe, and all of the chocolate that you should have had that evening, and forever.

Listen. Men can be dumb as fuck. Never, ever doubt how attractive you are based on the reaction of some fallible fuckwad with his tongue in a knot.