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You've got male! Eight suitors ditched based on their gobs. Heartless, yes, but it's a brutal game

So many mails. If this internet dating carry-on stays this hot, maybe I'll look into getting some sort of time-share job.

I'm getting ahead of myself, I know. Just because a girl gets more than 30 mails in less than 24 hours is no reason to lose the head. Nor am I boasting, sadly. About the number, possibly, but definitely not the content.

TDH 2000 was dark. That was it. At 5ft 5" he didn't fulfil the terms indicated by the 'T' and as for the 'H' . . . I don't spend too much time pondering the arrogance it required for this fella to have chosen that screen name, because I have all those other fellas to check out!

The learning curve is brutal, but fast. At least five of the mails are from married men. I duly email them back and tell them I'm not interested, which I think is only polite, and that's all I say. I don't leap up onto my soapbox because it's none of mine, is it? Two mail back and, in effect, tell me it's my fault as I hadn't set up a filter in my profile.

A what in my who? I go back to edit my profile: there's a section that allows me to block mails from undesirables. I bar married fellas, drug users, and those who are just looking for a shag. Code for a shag is the category 'Adult Pursuits' -- just so you know.

There are at least eight that I veto the second I get a look at their gobs. I am somewhat shocked at the speed with which I toss out potential suitors. This is just like being in a bar, it is the same glancing sweep around the place that eliminates 90pc of the lads within seconds.

There are one or two who look sincere, and I wonder if I should just maybe say hello? What would that hurt? I send off a few quick 'Thanks but no thanks, early days yet, best!' mails, and don't feel such a heartless siren.

I am a heartless siren! I read through about five more and decide they don't even deserve a pity post. One of them is so up himself, with so many conditions and requirements, that I'm tempted to give him a piece of my mind, but I refrain. It's nothing to me if he's a complete eejit.

I am left with about six fellas who look very, very promising. I pore over their profiles, and set about writing six witty replies, and send them off into the ether, fingers crossed, already daydreaming about my two favourites . . .


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