Dear Regrets: It's a good thing other species aren't evolved enough to be as counterproductive as we are, or the food chain would empty out very quickly. Come on, do you think that a male deer on the make sniffs doe pee on a branch and says to himself, "Naw, Ma's been having a bit of the mange lately, I think I'll take a seven-year mating sabbatical"?

So, your family tree has a bit of bark rot. Join the club. The essence of being human is being something of a screw-up. Everybody's got problems. Smart people view them as opportunities for growth (see The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton). Others, such as yourself, prefer to use them as excuses for acting like a wuss: "I can't ask you out - it's too hot, it's too cold, Daddy's too poor, Daddy has a goiter named Fred." Well, unless Fred will be joining you on your dates, and Daddy, too, in a wheelchair and leashed to his breathing machine ... what's it to you?

Then again, humiliation has excellent entertainment value. Nobody bonds with you over tales of your greatness. People want to hear about how human you are. They want to know about that time you were so poor you had to dress up as a chicken, clucking as you handed flyers to pedestrians; or rather, as you chased pedestrians, trying to hand them flyers so you could get paid before you died of heat exhaustion.

There is, however, a difference between serving up a splash of self-deprecation, suggesting that you have confidence to spare, and inviting others to look on as you drown yourself in a bottomless vat of self-perceived loserhood. Extricating yourself from that vat could take years of therapy and a forest of motivational Post-it Notes - reminding you not only to replace the refrigerator bulb, but to like yourself intensely while doing it.

But wait, what about your One True Love? Sure, you could call her, now that there's even less of a chance that she'll impede your slow, lonely march toward incontinence and death. Or, for a change of pace, start asking out other girls like, well, like they're going out of town to live with their boyfriends.

At some point, you'll learn what players know - that success in dating is largely a matter of mathematical odds. Ask three girls, you're likely to get three rejections. Ask 300, and a few are bound to say yes (maybe even a few keepers). In time, you should come to understand that it's self-worth, not Daddy's net worth, that matters.

Of course, sticking with imaginary relationships is a great way to preserve your own net worth, considering the low cost of imaginary dates, wedding rings, private schools and college educations.

Dear Outsourced: Get down on one knee and present her with a diamond-encrusted muzzle? Forget the office football pool, they're all betting on when and where you'll cave. Oh. Swoon.

Encouraging as it is that her co-workers apparently signed off on the work order for your proposal, somebody must have left out the small print about surprise being a key element of romance. Thanks to them, you can nix doing it over wine and candles - unless you're OK with her feigning surprise. Instead, the next time you two are in, say, Rite Aid, shopping for dental floss, bend your knee and speak your piece. After she comes to (assuming she says yes), be sure you discuss the ground rules for your marriage, like exactly how many corporate secretaries can hang over your bedposts dangling fertility thermometers.

This is cache, read story here