"She's a winner!"

So it hit me today, as I was driving home from the Urgent Care of my choosing, that I am not a healthy person. And unfortunately, the man of my choosing thinks that this is somehow important, at least he did a couple months ago when there was far more promise to our relationship [Insert tantrum here].

It matters. Health matters. Yes, I can do anything a normal person can do. I just get hurt more easily. Or I get an amoeba. Or I get intercostal chondritis, as the current case may be. How did I get it? Well, let's put aside the "continued strain on fight-or-flight mechanism in the hippothalamus", which is what the internet told me, and focus on the more real possibility of the hack job I did in the backyard several days ago. I don't want to start the list of things I cannot do because of my body, but let's just say that the list involves living in a humid place (or the jungle, as it were). So there go my missionary dreams.

And it would seem that it also limits my choice of mate, which is really ridiculous, because who wouldn't want to procreate with someone of my stature and aesthetic? Also, as long as we treat the children well, there's little chance of them developing anything heinous. We're strong farming stock, we Slovenians: peaceful, hearty, compost-loving. The only health problems in my family are caused by too much stress on bodily systems: immune, brain, nervous system, gastrointestinal, muscular. We're a sensitive folk. We weren't built for modern times (or high elevations, or again, the jungle).

So if that's not a motivation for you to set me up with your friend/brother/cousin, I don't know what more I can tell you.

I also have no dowry.