Um, About Last Night?

Dear Barry 761: Of course I don’t think you are a loser because you are
a DJ! Nor do I feel it was presumptuous of you to sign up for
“professional singles” as opposed to just “singles.” Although
throughout our eight-minute date you seemed not to actually work as a
DJ anywhere and didn’t have anything to say about music, I still agree
that kicking it old school in your mother’s basement with a few records
is a meaningful life pursuit.

Dear Sam 750:  I am glad that we were able to talk about Microsoft
Excel, especially my problem with this program scrolling too quickly. I
thought it was clever of you to suggest using that “down” arrow, even
though I pointed out how that would mean I’d have to hit it 250 times
to get to cell A250. When you said you really did more web design than
Excel troubleshooting, I was excited to ask you about web design trends
until you said that everything you worked on was already predesigned
and you didn’t do much designing.

Dear Mario 751: You are a short, hirsute man from Portugal. If you ever
get into a two-year relationship again, you need to lock that person
in. Please don’t tell yourself you will always have eight-minute
dating. You won’t.

Dear Vincent 802:
You certainly looked natty in your leather jacket and diamond
ring.  I am sorry you felt that your fellow eight-minute daters
“looked so old” and that you felt you should confess that you wanted to
date women in their twenties but the last woman you did that with
dumped you and now you are ready to date women in their thirties. But I
am glad that, at forty-five, you got that. And glad that you know,
absolutely, that dating anyone your age would remind you of being at
work. It was great to talk about my seeing a therapist, and about the
possibility of your seeing a therapist.

Dear David 730: You told me five things about yourself, each of which I
tried to respond to with enthusiasm, and then you said, “Just kidding!”
Thanks for winking at me at the end, though, and saying “You’re a
cutie!”

Dear John 742: Clearly, you had made a special connection with your
previous eight-minute date and were loath to move on to me. That is no
excuse however, for offering your hand as if it were dead fish and for
keeping your thumb hidden. No one has ever hidden his freaking thumb
from me in a handshake. It was a perfectly hideous feeling that makes
me shudder even now.