Sometimes people look worse in their online dating service profile pictures than they do in life. Sometimes they look better. When I met you, I was very happy to discover that it was the latter.

Or so I thought.

I walked into the bar to meet my date for the first time. I looked around for a few moments, saw you and immediately approached you, sat down at the bar next to you and asked if you were Hailey.

You were not.

“I am so extremely sorry about this,” I said. You laughed. We shook hands and I walked away.

The woman I was actually supposed to meet sucked.

Please tell me you’re single and that you would not be opposed to going out on a date with me.


People come in and out of your life every day. Especially when you freelance for a living and jump from job to job, week to week and even hour to hour. I worked in the office where you are a receptionist for one week. We said hello in the mornings and goodbye in the evenings, and there were a few very nice moments where we bantered back and forth when we crossed paths in the hall.

On my last day, I stopped at your desk on my way out and carried on a conversation about how it was my last day for an awkwardly long amount of time. You were super friendly to me and wished me luck in the future, said you hoped I’d come back to the agency to work again.

Every fiber of me except for the ones that actually force me to act wanted to ask you to go out with me for drinks or dinner sometimes.

Instead, I panicked, said goodbye and boarded the elevator, leaving your life for perhaps ever.

But I hope not.

If you have it in your heart to give me another chance to ask you out. Please email me and tell me the name of the band we talked about outside the restrooms that one day.


I’m loathe to say and believe things like “It’s a small world,” but I don’t think I have much alternative in this scenario. We know each other as quasi friends — friends of friends who would likely have been closer if we lived in the same city, but we don’t. You live in our mutual hometown that I left. Unbeknownst to me, you were visiting New York City with your then-boyfriend, staying at an apartment you copped from Air BnB. Normally, I would never have known about this until I checked Instagram, because it isn’t like we’re close enough for you to hit me up when you come to town with your boyfriend in tow, except that I was coming out of my apartment to head out for an early dinner when the two of you were lugging your luggage into my neighbors’ home.

First thing I realized was that in the time I’d been away, you had not become less beautiful. The opposite had happened, actually. You smiled at me and I almost pissed my pants.

We talked for a little while about the slim chances of their randomly staying next door to me, and talked about getting some drinks or some food at some point during your stay.

That night, I lied in my bed, listening to the rain and thinking about home. I had just drifted off when I heard it.

It was you. You and your boyfriend. Having sex. You both sounded like you enjoyed it. The rain wasn’t loud enough, so I turned on some music and tried to fall back asleep, tried not to be jealous of your boyfriend, tried not to wish that I was the one in that room right now.

Now, months later, I’m told your relationship is over. If you would like to come back to New York City and see how sex feels on the other side of the wall, please let me know.