To the Woman with Whom I Just Made Semi-Awkward Eye Contact at the Bar:

Hello. My name is Scott, and I’m writing in hopes you will consider me for your opening for male company this evening (if indeed you are here alone, are single and open to male companionship), and possibly for times in the near future (maybe forever?!). I am of course presuming that you are not currently in a relationship, or that you are in a relationship but happen to be one who fervently believes in one of the varieties of ethical non-monogamy, which I suppose I can get down with to a certain extent, though I say this having admittedly not yet tried it.

ANYWAY.

Earlier tonight while I was standing at the bar, pretending to engage friends in-person and also checking my phone way too often for a social setting but really dedicating all my energy to eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your friends, I heard you say that you are “sick and tired of dickheads like Mike,” and that you “Just want to find a decent fucking guy for once.”

I believe I can be that fucking guy. And I sincerely believe I can make you a believer, too, if you find me worthy of a chance.

Or maybe even just a hug. I would totally love a hug.

I gave you the old once-over and opted to apply for the opening to maybe someday penetrate your opening because I think I am, in a word, decent. I am not stellar (a stellar person would never write “penetrate your opening”) but I am also no Mike, who I’m sure did not cherish you in all of the ways I believe that a good man should, if you are indeed the kind, friendly and caring person I’m hoping you are, having never met you and my only real point of reference being the few words I’ve heard you say, mostly in anger at Mike, that shitbird.

Since 1994, when I gave a cheap ring to my kindergarten crush, I’ve worked part- to full-time as a skirt-chaser and closet romantic. In that time I have gained at least moderate expertise in back rubs, agreeing with the crazy shit people sometimes say so I can avoid negative confrontation, dinner purchasing, opening car doors and other impeding doors, gazing passionately into eyes, flower-giving, homemade card-writing, rom-com marathoning, Gold Bonding hands so they don’t sweat when you touch them, carrying electronic heating pads on person when the lunar cycle dictates I should and joint slumbering in a twin-sized bed. (College was a struggle, right?)

I am also proficient in: making out, the act of boning, not ever calling the act of boning “boning” out loud, creative dick pics, entry-level tantric sex, post-coital spooning and Kegel exercises to promote both longevity and bladder control, so that I wouldn’t wake you several times a night as I head to the restroom to hang a liquid wire. (I realize that sleep is important.) Also, I am not implying that I would spend the night if we were to end up at your place someday. Only if you wanted me to and, to be honest, I would do it but even then I would be hesitant, as I really like to sleep in my own bed. (After leaving college and getting a queen-sized bed, I have become accustomed to using all of the mattress space.) It’s something I’m working on. I hope it’s not a deal-breaker.

I understand I may not be precisely what you’re looking for, since you just got out of a relationship with Mike, a man I imagine has rippling muscles and cheekbones that could cut Superman’s fingernails. I have neither of these things. He also may have some disposable income, but let me tell you something: You don’t need to be wealthy or physically strong to lift and mend a broken heart. And you don’t need razor sharp cheekbones to sing a love song.

I submit that average is the new awesome.

Anyway, like I said, I’ve stapled my résumé and a few provocative photographs I hope will convince you we’d be a good fit. I can be reached any time at srm5082@gmail.com, or @scottmuska, if you’d like to schedule a first date/interview (same damn thing, amirite?) or some illicit drunk sexts after closing time.

Thanks so much for your time, and I really hope to hear from you. Keep fighting the good fight.

Cordially,

Scott Muska