I have never been handsome. Sure, girlfriends occasionally told me their grandmothers thought I was cute or that my skin was clearing up nicely, but those were not the kind of self-confidence boosters I could parlay into hitting on women in bars. Or parties. Or senior centers, where, looking back, I probably could have done all right, because of my ability to play bridge.
So my intentions for this column were not as self-aggrandizing as my normal ideas, like the one that would print out my entire DNA code. Instead, this exercise was meant to put me back in my...
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