Lunacy is checking Craigslist Missed Connections and then arguing aloud with posts that are obviously mistaken about what I wore today.
We made eye contact and sat across from each other on the R train.
Sorry for not saying anything, was taken back by your cute face.
HEY!! IT’S ME! I’m the girl! It’s finally happening because I really do have a “cute face.” I really think I may.
Now, technically I wasn’t on the R train. But I’m sure I was near the R. Is the R near the 1? I’m on the 1 all the damn time. The spine of the R looks like a 1. Boom. It’s me. On the R/1.
R train. It was totally me. He thought I was CUTE, y’all. We can make this happen.
I have no idea where the R train is.
Don’t give up. This is THE GUY. Romantic comedies tell me this is how it will go down. This is my “bouquet of sharpened pencils” moment. We’re going to reunite on the R, I’ll be in monochromatic Meg Ryan shades of khaki, and we’re going to be terrific. I saw Tom Hanks in a play a few weeks ago. It. Was. A. Sign.
I’ll message back, something adorable, obvsies, and then he’ll respond and we fall madly in love and get married and our wedding favors are old printed Missed Connections, and Craig leads the ceremony, and we definitely don’t get divorced within a year like so many friends I know.
Oh wait. Fuck.
Hope to hear from you with the color of my bookbag. Have a wonderful day 😉
Listen, asshole. You’re standing in the way of our happy ending.
NOT THAT KIND. FUCKER.
Is it purple?
Is it a deep eggplant, similar to a potential bridesmaids dress, assuming we get married in Manhattan in mid October on a Friday night like I always imagined? Does JCrew’s bridal collection even sell a deep eggplant?
Is closing the Safari window to check JCrew options considered Missed Connections cheating? Because this is like a secret mistress Google search. And Bookbag, I can’t quit you.
Is it green?
Green like the color of dress I wore this weekend, a beautiful emerald green silk dress that apparently no man in Manhattan with an Internet connection and basic spelling/grammatical skill noticed? Motherfucking green?
Yellow like the color my platinum hair used to be until I decided to undergo a 6-hour hair appointment meant to kickoff a midyear New Year’s resolution for energized sass, emerging a stronger, bolder red headed lady, one apparently no man on this site has spotted?
Why am I spending tonight, in beautiful, glorious, muggy, hot as balls (not yours, Sir) Manhattan staring at a computer screen in the hopes that some stranger with potentially lascivious desires noticed my Gap yoga pants at Starbucks this morning?
At what point in the progression of dating has a simple “hello” been overtaken by a delayed greeting from behind a screen, a shot in the dark more preferable to a live, living notice of intent?
When living in the moment evolves into imagining a future Internet personal ad introduction – when that is somehow more romantic than the moment of intent itself – that’s when I know to shut the computer and turn on my life.