A year ago, I was out with friends when a cute guy started to talk to us. In many ways, he was the type of person I’ve gone out with so many times before: educated, handsome, tall, in banking, a little bit of an asshole and a whole lot of charming. It might have been my frustration with dating at the time or that I saw so many ex-boyfriends in his eyes, peering back at me over his vodka water – but I just wasn’t into it.
He, however, was relentless.
We bantered for a while, but as soon as my friends gave me an exit, I turned away. He stopped me and I smiled, as I calmly said, “Look, you seem great, but I just don’t think I’d want to continue this. I’m trying to be smarter about who I go out with.”
He looked shocked (rightfully so), but he grinned as he replied, “I was about to ask you for your number. But you’re right, I was mainly trying to sleep with you. How long have you been single?”
From my Facebook page looking in, I seem like I pretty much have it together.
About how easy it was to get around the city, even with it’s hushed voices and last-calls at 1 a.m., instead of 4. I’ve been thinking about how the men were such 
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