I figured out my problem with dating.

I’m too slutty.

Emotionally slutty, that is. While I don’t put out, I put myself out there too much.

It used to be that when I started dating someone, I would send a six-month representative — the person I thought they wanted to get to know. A less-flawed, down-for-anything, eats-small-meals-on-dates version of myself. And the guy would typically send a better version of himself as well. But as time goes on, the true character is always revealed. Be it a lack of ambition, control issues or a negative way of handling stress, they show you their ugly side. Meanwhile, I just looked like an ass trying to make myself seem more attractive, yet I’d have been more attractive to the guy had I just been my uncool self.

Being jaded by meeting too many “six-month representatives,” and worse, for being one myself in certain circumstances, I figured I would correct my mistake of trying too hard — I started being very forthcoming about who I am. Introducing myself with my flaws and my childhood traumas included in my bio, I have turned into an emotional whore.

I figured it would be more fair to him to just show the whole package up front rather than be a used car salesman and break down on him later. But all that does is send the guy running as fast as an NFL wide receiver in training camp trying to keep his job.

Time to find a happy median.

The comedy theater tragedy mask has two faces — a smile and a frown — for a reason. That’s because all comedy comes from tragedy. I typically only show people the smiley, bubbly Britt, never taking off the mask to reveal the real me for which my comedy is derived. Is it too much to ask for someone whom I can be off for every once in a while? Someone who, in the rare instance I’m frowning, wants to turn it back into a smile.

Instead of sending a six-month representative to a new relationship, telling the person what we think they want to hear, we should show our real selves and see if they like it. But maybe try to avoid telling the story about getting raped on the first date — usually not the best dinner conversation.