One has inadvertently stumbled across One’s ‘Soul mate.’
Prior to this discovery One had spat upon the notion of such a thing and barfed at those who opined that they had been lucky enough to find theirs.
Sadly, One’s Soul Mate is on the other side of the Atlantic and available only through a blog of even more mammoth proportions than One’s own.
Advertised as a daily record of a miserable failure (although the author is acceptable to the gen pub, as is One, as a relatively normal article) the diatribe is right up One’s passage and no mistake.
The writing is a truly miserable litany of missed opportunities and bad decisions, just like One’s own.
Now there’s a man One could love!
He spends his week doing a shite job, that he hates, and his weekend eating junk food and avoiding household chores.
The only stumbling block upon the horizon, to use two clichés, is that he has a dog. But since he is too idle to walk the creature One is sure he could be persuaded to dispose of the creature, whereupon One could surreptitiously introduce One’s pussy to the equation.