Inspired by this open letter of apology, I decided to also publicly proclaim my incompetency in relationship’ing certain men who have somehow made their way into my life. You were so ready, so enthused, and so full of the idea of us (either physically or romantically or both) but I just wasn’t any of the above. I don’t want to shift the blame to my introversion, emotional unavailability and perhaps general psychopathic tendencies, but that about sums it up I think.
Dear Somewhere-in-Brooklyn Ex-Coworker,
I’m cringing as I recall the times we spent together—a total of four hours in which I was sloppy-drunk and we made out at a bar, plus I guess that one hour of phone call in which you interviewed me on my past sexual history and whether I was open to “trying new things.”
I’m sorry that it didn’t work out because I failed to appreciate your candid disclosure of your fellatio skills and two-digit endowment, even after your display of chivalry by taking the train with me all the way to Queens when you lived in not-Queens. And I’m really really sorry that I didn’t respond to your last text “Can we talk?” because, quite frankly, I found it terrifying. I apologize for being squeamish to your honesty and communicativeness.
Dear Flushing Doctor,
It was one date, but that was all I needed to bolt. Honestly, when you messaged me on OkCupid and we got to talking, I thought I had found The One because you passed the background check with flying colors—my parents would have loved you more than they ever loved me. We had common interests, similar life experiences, and I was willing to work with your inability to handle spicy food.
So I’m sorry that in the end, I was unable to agree to a second date mainly because you nonchalantly decided on Dish A because it was $5 cheaper than Dish B, when your salary could afford you 80-dollar prix fixe every day of the week. I’m sorry for being petty and for my ultimate failure at being a Nice Chinese Girl that you aspired to marry.
(P.S. I’m also sorry for flat out refusing your offer of casual sex in one of your many follow-up texts. Maybe I should have phrased it a little more nicely, like, “Maybe never.”)
Dear Forest Hill Firefighter,
Our date was one of those OkCupid fail dates that made me wish it wasn’t a fail. You had a really nice smile and you were tall and, who am I kidding, a fricken FIREFIGHTER but something just did not feel right once we sat down at our table and you started talking. It must’ve been just me, right? It was probably my fault for being overly sensitive to your mentions of your ex-girlfriends who also happened to be Asian.
I’m sorry for pulling back, agape, when I asked why you were so fond of Asian women and you answered, “Because you guys are just so feminine.” I’m sorry but I just had a really hard time wrapping my head around that. Then you said we should try kissing—which we did, much to my begrudged reluctance—and it was totally my fault that I. Just. Could. Not. Get. Into. It. So I’m sorry for pulling away and telling you, without beating around the bush, that I was not interested, even when you reassured me that you could make me come multiple times to the point of shedding tears. I’m sorry even that kind of promise didn’t appeal to me.
Dear UWS Concierge,
I felt like we had a pretty good thing going on but I’m not sure I should apologize because it seems like this thing isn’t really going on anymore? Please correct me if I’m wrong by perhaps texting me like every other week? Every month? Which you have been doing, pretty much. I barely remember the first time we had sex, which was at that godawful St. Marks hotel, aside from that there was no heat and I was freezing my ass off literally. For which I apologize—that I don’t remember much of it, not that it was so fucking cold in that room—because you had to pay a stupid hourly rate for the room and I’m pretty sure we overstayed.
And also I’m sorry for running to the bathroom and throwing up in the middle of sex; it really was a bad idea to pregame with 5 tequila shots in rapid succession. But mostly I’m genuinely sorry for that time you came over and all we did was watch a movie and drank wine because I was on my period; I’m sure a blowjob wasn’t enough. And I’m sorry I was hesitant to let you come on my new sheets. I don’t know how you dealt with it but that must have been tough.
Dear Astoria Aspiring Standup Comedian,
Oh you and your prepubescent-slash-cybernerdy abbreviated texts. I’m sorry I faded out after our first date, which, despite the fact that you semi-drunkenly called me unpretty as argument against you footing the bill, still ended up enjoyable thanks to alcohol. Despite you being brazenly oblivious and sending me a bunch of texts, all of which went unanswered, I shall apologize for not turning you down as directly as humanly possible. Oh and sorry about not picking up your call at 3 a.m. just this morning. Twice. Because I really value my sleep. How’s that hangover feeling?