Dear Louis,

I recently moved to New York City, and as a newcomer I’ve found your words to be filled with the most guidance. Forget my parents, my friends, you are my light. I’ve been asked on a few dates, which we all know takes a ridiculous amount of courage from a man, and from a woman to say yes, but I know saying yes to a date with a man is literally insane and ill advised. I do occasionally go for the “yes” or the “sure,” but I think I might be “fucking down?” You did warn me about that, that some men convince women they’re fucking up when really it’s down, but then I got to thinking, and I know I’m only 23, but didn’t you say that the formula is pussy plus time over income squared? Maybe that’s what’s happening. Maybe my circumstances are starting to match their looks?

This dating thing though, sometimes it gets really bleak because I know that divorce is really the end goal. Maybe it’s not so much bleak, but I find myself anxiously waiting for it, just wanting to cut right to the wonder years, that all of this, all this courting, the games, first kisses, and putting up with people’s shit is all in prep for the divorce, the grand finale. You did once tell me that if I do meet someone and fall in love I should get married, but then still I should get divorced. I’ll never forget, “divorce is forever, marriage is for how long you can hack it.”

It’s just been rough, and I shouldn’t complain because at least I’m out of the food chain, but New York City is a tough place to date. I met a guy for coffee in one of those fancy chilled out coffee shops with baristas in beanies and cool T’s, and it was awful. He was all sweaty, kind of red and just disheveled, and then I remembered what you said about jerking off too soon after a meal. That really must have been it. He was rushed, just came from lunch, and it was 40 degrees outside.

Anyway, I hope to bump into you one day, maybe in one of these coffee shops. I just imagine it’s a crowded hour and we’re waiting in line, maybe you’re in front of me and you accidently elbow my tit, and I’ll know that you’ll know what just happened because the sensitivity of the male elbow to tit flesh is unbelievable.

I know I’m just a dead person who hasn’t died yet, and according to you I’m no woman at all since I haven’t conceived and birthed a child…but Louis, what I’m trying to say is, will you go on a date with me?

Wanting you,