Dear Young Modern Woman,
I feel I must write you as we both fast approach the magical age of 30.
The sausage-fest years are drawing to a close, and you must now be thinking about 'settling down' - perhaps by marrying, and perhaps by having children, albeit with the right man of course.
You will now profess piety whilst decrying promiscuity, despite the latter being your former order of the day.
Far be it from me to consider myself the 'right man', given that this is an impossible ideal to meet.
Perhaps you already have children and the remnants of baggage leftover from previously failed relationships - the 'right man' must of course be willing to accept this, with no questions asked.
I find myself in the position of having minimal baggage, and relatively far fewer miles on the clock - why should I suddenly 'settle' for your high mileage and gaggle of children, whilst at the same time meeting the stringent criterion of your 'being a man' profile?
How perplexing, and how laced with tedium the prospect is of matching your requirements - which I utterly have no intention of trying to satisfy for the sake of possibly being bedded.
And the modern marketing of feminism has told you that you can have it all; a different man to roger every Friday or Saturday night fostered by copious amounts of alcohol, a stressful demanding career in the city that overtakes all other priorities, an abortion at-will if one of your lovers ever slipped one past the goalie, and guaranteed ownership of children that perhaps resulted from a failed de facto relationship.
Yes, you can have it all, and all of the complexities that come along with it - it's none of my business, until of course the time comes that you seek men such as myself out, imperfect as we are ourselves, to somehow magically sort out your mess and set it all right.
While you were courting a collective army of men either at the pub or via Facebook, I was probably at home, alone, quietly watching Doctor Who or studying for my degree, completely ignoring the world you were inhabiting - the big flashy city with cocks aplenty.
I have my charms; I have my appeals; I have my wits, of all that I have been made aware of by the few good women that I have taken the time to get to know, and in turn, I had gotten to know their qualities.
Yet, I don't give it away for free - perhaps I didn't get the memo from the sexual revolution, and so perhaps I didn't become 'liberal' enough to share bodily fluids with random strangers - my apologies to modern society.
Now you find yourself feeling unfulfilled and used, and perhaps now you're wondering "why?" - and all of a sudden you are actually required to make a connection with a man, to value a man, and to respect a man - all of which modern feminism has vehemently discouraged you from doing.
Just as men treat women as objects, so too should women treat men as objects, for the sake of 'equality' according to feminsm - however, just as not all men treat women as objects, nor should women do the same for the sake of faux feminist empowerment.
Of course women should be empowered - but the routes that militant feminism has promised you are being showed to be a farce - now more than ever, you will find young women confused and clambering for explanations for their feelings of emptiness, of something missing, even though they supposedly have it all.
You will also find young girls becoming increasingly sexualised; puberty begins earlier, either biologically or psychologically, thanks to the mass meda; and in truth, true feminism, true womanhood, has been hijacked.
I have been grossly unimpressed by my relatively limited dealings with you, Young Modern Woman, and if you have been offended by this letter, so bet it.
I will most likely make it my business to continually avoid your crass path the best I can.