You know I’m not a mail-order bride, right?

There must be something in the water.

Something in the water at restaurants. Something in the water at Starbucks. Something in the water at the gym….

Last month, three older couples tried to set me up with their sons, who are all apparently very handsome and smart and educated and fit. To which I reply, “and with all that, he can’t manage to find his own girlfriend?” Some find this funny, others, not so much. After chatting with one couple, the mom said she REALLY wanted me to be her new daughter-in-law (I think we might be skipping a few steps here), and one couple tried to hard-sell me on their son with a laundry list of his accomplishments. While I should take this as a compliment, it’s kinda like when someone says to a woman, “You’re so beautiful and amazing! How are you still single?!” Because this implies that something must, in fact, be wrong with me, otherwise, I would be wifed up by now at the crippling old age of 28.

So, in honor of awkward attempted hook-ups, here’s a list of my least favorite places to get hit on:

  1. The street. Don’t honk at me and yell out of your window. Has that ever worked for you? No? Shocking. It’s just a cowardly attempt at asserting male dominance.
  2. The gas station. There’s nowhere to turn, clearly no gas in my car, and suddenly, I feel trapped.
  3. The gym. There’s a right way and wrong way to do this. The wrong way: Oh, you’re gonna pick the treadmill right behind me when there are literally 30 others to choose from and then follow me into the parking lot at 11 p.m. when I’m leaving after I know you’ve been creepily staring at my ass for an hour? #truestory
  4. Anywhere when I’m with another man who is clearly not just my friend. Don’t be that guy.



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