I know I’m not the only person who thinks the universe is out to get them with little signs and symbols of recognition and remembrance appearing on a daily basis, confirming that no matter how hard you try to separate – your past and present will always maintain strings of connection.

This time I roll my eyes. It was one thing to see the woman on the subway stairs in front of me carrying a copy of “Don’t Make Me Think”, a web usability theory book that I associate with E and his return to employment in the Spring of 2003. But now I’m on the train and staring at the passenger next to me who is wearing a Tshirt advertising the opening of the 14th Street Apple Store on “12.7.07″, the date that was our 5th wedding anniversary and the last we would celebrate as a couple. Less than 2 months after that date, I was going…going…

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“You smoking a joint?”

That’s the question I didn’t hear thanks to the headphones that are permanently attached to my ears when I’m out in public. I’d just surfaced from the subway, on my way home from playing 10 games too many of Candyland while watching a friend’s 5 year old in Queens, I wasn’t in any mood for discussion let alone with a stranger. But he was in my peripheral, a tall man who’s age I couldn’t determine, I could see he was laughing. This laughter was directed at me. And here is where I remove one earbud, simultaneously signaling an interest in this silent joke and making my first big mistake as a single woman living on her own in the city.

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It was a colossally shitty date.

Most of my dates last Spring were shitty, but this one had a particularly wretched stench.
Sadly it was the third evening I’d been out with this particular gentleman (loose term), my lapse in judgment was bordering on permanent it seemed. At least when it came to accepting dates.

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