Collective Nouns

I was thinking in the shower this morning — my best thinking place. I was thinking you'd like to hear about the current batch of inappropriate men who have responded to my recent profile-postings on plentyoffish.com and cupid.com.

Then I started thinking about collective nouns. If there is a murder of crows and a gaggle of geese and an exaltation of larks, what should there be of inappropriate men. How about a clutter? They're definitely cluttering up my life right now.

There's the recovering alcoholic (not that there's anything wrong with that) in Pittsburgh who signs every note "In His service and yours." Unh uh. Ain't happening. How about the 44-year-old chef and self-taught pianist in Tucson who goes on and on in his profile about a woman (or a cat — I'm not sure) he's met. If he has a woman in his life, he doesn't need me or any other woman for a hiking partner! There's the guy in Calexico, CA (where?). Our commonalities are having lost a spouse to cancer and being computer nuts. Not enough to go on. A more geographically undesirable correspondent? That would be in Hamilton, Montana! He is retired and does some arts 'n' crafts — he buys used ladies' cowboy boots and fills them with concrete to turn them into bookends. Again, not that there's anything wrong with that. I told you previously about the retired CIO in Oil City, PA. I asked if he wanted to meet for lunch while I was in Ohio and he said he wasn't a lunch kinda guy. And I'll finish with Todd, the real estate investor/retired attorney. He's started calling again, saying we need to get back together. But every time he calls it's clear he's three sheets to the wind.

This is clearly a clutter of men I can do without.