People look at me, and all they see is the most powerful set of carnivorous jaws in the animal kingdom. But there’s more to me than that. I’ve also got a big heart, a heart that weighs close to two hundred pounds. And it’s broken.

Caleb dumped me last week. He said that if I want to have someone in my life, I can’t get all territorial about him poaching from the Iguanodon herds down by the river bend. He said I need to figure out what it is I want. He said that being together wasn’t worth the stress, that there was no point in dragging something out that was making both of us unhappy, and that he couldn’t maintain his feeding patterns and our relationship simultaneously. He said it wasn’t anybody’s fault; there is simply insufficient herbivore biomass to keep us together.

In a way, I understand. A warm-blooded carnivore the size of a school bus needs to consume massive amounts of animal protein to preserve its body mass. Nobody appreciates that more than me. I’m forty feet long and weigh nearly eight tons. Maybe Caleb left me because he thinks I’m too fat. Well, that’s his issue, not mine. I’m a healthy girl, and I am comfortable with my body.

At first he seemed like he was different. He put a lot of effort into his mating display, and I was impressed. But, in the end, he turned out just like all the others. I thought he loved me for me, but he was just driven by a primal Darwinian urge to propagate the species. So I’m alone again. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. God, what a bastard.

I tried to talk to my mother about how I’ve been feeling, and she was completely unsympathetic, as usual. She reminded me, of course, that I’m almost thirty. Like I’d forgotten. I try to explain to her that my feeding range can only support one apex predator, but it’s like she doesn’t hear what I’m saying. What does she know anyway? It’s not like Dad stuck around.

She laid her usual guilt trip on me. She said that, despite all she sacrificed on my behalf, I’ll probably end up raising a baby alone just like she did. And she’s probably right, but that outcome is essentially dictated by the structural constraints of the ecosystem. But just try telling that to my mom.

She was all: “I don’t understand why you can’t attract a decent guy.” And maybe she has a point. The antorbital fenestrae in the skull of a male Tyrannosaur are enormous, which indicates a powerful olfactory mechanism. They can smell my pheromones from miles and miles away.

So, attracting them isn’t really the problem. I wiggle my tail, and the boys come running. But, as soon as they’re done with their business, they start sniffing around for the nearest Parasaurolophus carcass, and they lose all interest. It’s like nobody in the late Cretaceous has ever heard of cuddling.

I mean, what’s wrong with these guys. Don’t they care at all about my needs? I’m beginning to get into it, and he’s already finished and ready to go off scavenging carrion. I’m just frustrated. And it’s not like I can do anything about it at that point; I can’t even reach my cloacal vent with these tiny vestigial arms.