My friends have run out of single guys to introduce me to.
There’s even a running joke about the fact that I’ve dated THREE childhood friends of one of my law school classmates.
I’ll also admit to re-initiating contact with an ex from my third year of law school—the former Army Ranger best remembered for his unusual enthusiasm for his Breville juicer, premature ejaculation issues and borderline antisocial personality disorder.
I spent my last five years in Chicago attempting to forge lasting (i.e.: ultimately marital) relationships with friends of friends, and I’m still totally alone.
The ad reiterated that the service is for “busy professionals.” Which means my excuse for resorting to such a service would presumably be my busy professional-ness—rather than the more obvious “I’m pathologically insecure! I scheduled the introductory meeting over the phone with a woman named Lizzie.