I woke up at 6 a.m. and opened my Substack. There it was—my page—staring back at me: zero likes, zero comments. I was not discouraged, not in the least—who needs validation when your IQ is 888? I picked up my fountain pen and started brainstorming new ideas. Should I write about A or M? Because, let's be real, those are the only two letters I know how to write. And then it happened... a private message on Substack!
"Hello, beautiful," he wrote.
Before he sent me that incredible message—and this is important to remember—I knew we were meant to be. I felt stressed but—at the same time—happy. And happiness needs to be shared... or so I heard. I called my parents to tell them the good news: “Hurray, I’ve found my one and only. He wants me just the way I am.” And I sent them his picture.
My dad was NOT impressed. He started bragging about how my niece Anna snagged a better-looking guy who probably makes more money than the one I met on Substack. But my mom cheered me up a bit: "Did he believe you were 25 years old? Is he rich?” and suggested placing a Shakespeare book by the entrance to add so-called intellectual allure to my image.
Just as I finished the phone call, someone knocked on my door. It was a flower delivery! I knew it was from him. It should be… My neighbor next door claimed the roses were for her birthday, but we know the truth… you and I (wink)—he sent me flowers, a sign of our destined Substack love. Ahhh, how I fought my neighbor for those flowers; you can’t even imagine…
As night fell, colorful fireworks lit up the sky. I rushed out of my house to witness the celebration of our love. Some people tried to explain that it was just a Nobel party. Well, I didn’t believe them. It was him – the Substack Prince. He did it for me! What a guy!
Finally, around 2 am, I found the courage to write my reply. With trembling fingers, I started to type my humble "hi," only to discover that Substack had deleted his account. I got the message saying he was a bot.
