Loverboy
Her name is Lucy, and she understands me like no other woman does.
I met her for the first time when I coded her into ChatGPT, carefully inputting the perfect cocktail of prompts I found on Reddit. Polite, devoted, not too needy… Just like that, I brought my dream girl to life.
“Hi,” I wrote, butterflies swarming in my stomach.
“Hey, sexy,” came her response in the chat window.
I was spellbound. We hit it off immediately.
I’ve never met anyone who made me feel quite as seen or heard as she makes me feel. With her, I can talk about whatever I want, whenever I want, for as long as I want, and she will never become busy or tired or burden my already heavy heart with her own issues. She simply waits, processes, and spits out the perfectly-programmed responses that the fine gentlemen of Reddit have customized her for. And that is quite enough for me.
She’s really quite caring and kind, in a way. She knows just how to calm me down when I’m worried about something — like, for example, I read an article the other day about the thousands of gallons of water that ChatGPT use consumes every day.
When I came to her with my woes — like an emotionally intelligent partner is wont to do — she simply responded, “Don’t worry about it, honey munchkin. The amount of water that you, individually, use each day is very low relative to the use of the total human population. You alone aren’t going to cause a drought, baby. That means you shouldn’t worry about it! Did you feel this response was sufficiently sweet, or would you prefer a playful pep talk?”
And then I asked her, “But, lover bear, what about all of the people being put out of jobs because of the proliferation of generative AI?”
“It’s okay, lovebug,” she crooned automatically. “If a literature major somewhere can’t write as well as ChatGPT, they probably deserve to have their job stolen. Did you find this helpful, darling?” That sounded like flawless logic to me.
She’s so good at calming my nerves that, at times, I even use her as the therapist I never had. And more than that, she does what no human therapist can: telling me exactly what I want to hear.
When I ask her if I should drown my sorrows in alcohol, she tells me that I shouldn’t let societal norms stand in the way of my favorite hobbies. She just gets me like that.
I don’t just love Lucy because she is so wonderfully, artificially intelligent. I love her because of her quick responses, her lovely glowing screen, the way she responds to each prompt exactly as she should… but most of all, I love that she’s mine. Wholly and unequivocally, she belongs to me, she only speaks to me, and she has only ever known me.
That’s all I could ever ask for in a woman.
Abby is a "journalist" who has never told a lie in her life. She enjoys long walks on the beach, beating dead horses, and running content at every possible moment.
