Dear Creepy Internet Daters,

I am not your girl.

Not that I don't appreciate your multiple, albeit untoward, e-mail advances.

Telling me that I "look nice - real nice - like the kind of girl you'd want to get to know" is always flattering.

But then again, I am married. Happily married, I might add.

Which I thought you would have known, as I'm pretty sure you Creepy Internet Daters found my e-mail from the good old blog here, since I've never belonged to a dating Web site, nor have I ever inquired about finding a mate via a personal profile on the Internet.

Not that I judge those who do. I have plenty of friends who've met their spouses via the interwebs.

But something tells me that's not exactly what you're looking for, Creepy Internet Daters. Something tells you're not exactly card-carrying members of Match.com.

Because you, Creepy Internet Daters, keep sending me, for lack of a better term, propositions.

You keep sending come-ons to my personal e-mail address. I'm pretty sure you're breaking all sorts of rules if you are indeed a member of some aforementioned reputable dating site.

Not to mention all the grammar rules you insist on breaking with each e-mail you send to my copy-editing eyes.

It's called a "period." Use it. A run-on sentence does not an attractive mate make.

And, seriously, know your audience. If I was single, I wouldn't be attracted to someone who has the spelling skills of a fifth-grader.

Also, while we're on the topic of who I may or may not be attracted to, I have to tell you, I'm not attracted to women.

Which you, Creepy Internet Daters, seem to be.

All of you.

Every single one of you seems to a) want to take me out on the town, and b) be a woman.

Which, really, is a lose-lose for all involved.

Sorry to disappoint you, Creepy Internet Daters, but neither option will work for me because, as I've already said, I'm married.

And, oh yes, I'm married to a man.

A big, manly man, who really boasts no feminine qualities. To be honest, metro-sexual men aren't really my thing, let alone women.

You're barking up the wrong tree, er, girl.

I really hoped it wouldn't come to this. After all, I tried to be cordial, Creepy Internet Daters. I really did.

I've ignored your first, oh, seven e-mails, which somehow flew through my freakishly tough junk-mail firewall.

I refrained from gagging when the e-mails got more pleading, and, well, pathetic.

And then, I attempted to be polite, sparing your feelings if you will, by not writing back with:

"Seriously? I'm married, and I'm not into women. Especially women who insist on gratuitously using commas. So lay off already. Because I think you're gross, and I don't want to date you. Ever."

But, obviously, my silence just egged you Creepy Internet Daters on.

Because the e-mails kept on coming. And I kept getting more and more skeeve-d out.

It's no longer even the least bit flattering. My ego does not need several poorly penned e-mails a day, praising my assets and telling me you'd like to "meet up."

Which, let's face it, I now interpret to mean: "I want to catch you in a private place, where I can kidnap you and sell you into modern slavery, or, if you put up a fight, kill you and dump your body where no one will find it."

Yes, I am that overly dramatic. But we've all heard stories of people like the Craig's List Killer.

And I'm not taking any chances.

So, please, lay off.

I don't want to date you. I don't want you to send pictures to me. And, for the love of Pete, I don't want to "meet up" with you anywhere.

Unless you want to me to show up with a small posse full of sailors, led by my husband and Marvin the Dog - who really has the most to win from getting rid of you, Creepy Internet Daters, as he is the lone soul who must endure every ear-piercing shriek of disgust I emit every time another one of you bares your soul in another lascivious e-mail.

So, Creepy Internet Daters, let go. Let me move in.

It's not you; it's me.

Or, rather, it is you. But I'm trying to dump you gently.

We're through. We're over.

In fact, honestly, we never really were.

You'll be OK. I promise, you'll soon find someone else to proposition. The Internet is a wide open space, filled with lonely people who might be into your sort of thing.

Go ahead. Reach out and touch someone.

But just not me.

Because, honestly, I'm just not that into you.

Sincerely,