To:

Dear ,

I regret to inform you that you have been eliminated from further contention as my Mr. Right. As you are probably aware, the competition was exceedingly tough and dozens of well-qualified candidates such as yourself also failed to make the final cut. I will, however, keep your name on file should an opening become available.

So that you may find better success in your future romantic endeavors, please allow me to offer the following reasons you were disqualified from the competition:

(Check all those that apply)

	Your breasts are bigger than mine.
	Your last name is objectionable. I can't imagine taking it, hyphenating it, or subjecting my children to it.
	The fact that our finest dining experience to date has been at McDonald's reveals a thriftiness that I find unappealing.
	Your inadvertant admissiong that you "buy condoms by the truckload" indicates that you may be interested in me for something other than my personality.
	You failed the 20 Question Rule, i.e., I asked you 20 questions about yourself before you asked me one.
	Your legs are skinnier than mine. If you can fit into my pants, then you can't get into my pants.
	You failed the credit check.
	Your "Putting on a few, aren't you, babe?" comment, given the 9-month-pregnant-size of your own beer gut, was inappropriate.
	I find your inability to fix my car extraordinarily unappealing.
	The fact that your apartment has been condemned reveals an inherent slovenliness that I fear is unbreakable.
	The phrase "My Mother" has popped up far too often in conversation.
	You still live with your parents, and attending night classes to get your High School diploma, are slight negatives.
	You mention your ex-wife's name more than you mention mine.
	Your gift of a 2-oz. Hershey Bar, with almonds, showed style.
	Three final words... Size does matter.

Sincerely,