The Hartwell Chronicles ... Small town single

Reality bites, especially for small town dating and relating.
Every time I start thinking to myself, “Hmmm it would be nice to meet a charming gentleman or even go on a date while I’m here,” I snap back to reality.
Usually some male – in Hart or surrounding counties – irks me to the point of rather ending up a bag lady with 10 cats than entertaining them for another second.
Extreme, I know. But I have proof.
Case in point 1: Let’s call him Chester the Molester. I hung out with Chester only once because immediately he was on me like a hawk on a Junebug.
Apparently, he did not hear Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown sing “It’s hard to breathe with no air.” Home skillet was about to suffocate me with his preying hands.
Then he had the nerve to say I had some psychological problem, such as stranger anxiety.
No, I don’t like being touched by random strangers. He might not wash his hands.
I barely escaped Chester’s “friendly” hands. His number was deleted two seconds later.
Case in point 2: Bubba Buford Brown was cool, some days. On other days, not so much.
Sure we talked a lot, at first, and then it slowly started becoming more and more sporadic.
I can’t get mad and say it was entirely fault. It does take two to tango.
I just was not that interested in Bubba. There was no chemistry, and I couldn’t even force it.
I soon tired of his presence, so he was dismissed.
Case in point 3: Willie Wanna Start Some has a tendency to poke fun at my little quirks and idiosyncrasies. At first it was OK, never acceptable mind you, but I took it all in strides.
Now he’s just getting down right annoying.
I can only take getting put down, however jokingly, so many times before the attitude comes out.
He has been warned.
Is it too much to ask for an interesting, sane and accepting individual such as myself?
I guess so.
There are slim pickings in a small town, especially one that’s a step below a retirement village.
All the eligible men are dead, waiting to be born or married.
I have had my fair share of “inquiries” from very old men and too young boys. Can we say, “EWWW!”
Everyone else has been subpar at best.
I, for one, will not settle for anything less than someone on my level who meets all 150 prerequisites.
(Yeah, I might be alone forever.)
Maybe I’ll just get a pet to keep me company. There is nothing wrong with being a cat lady.
I’m sure the whole dating and relating scene will get better when I finally move one.
For now, I do believe small town singlehood is the best fit.