"Missed connections?  Like on Craigslist? I didn't think that was de rigueur anymore."

Paisley rolled her eyes. "Neither is your French affectation.  As far I am concerned, that bullshit should be limited to our politicians".

"Hey, nous sommes Canadiens.  And bilingualism is sexy.  Just look at Justin Trudeau".  Knowing that Paisley adores the man, I was hoping to distract her way from her current scheme.  Missed connections?  Sounds like date rape waiting to happen.

Ok.  Maybe not.  But I am still nervous as hell thinking about trying to find my subway Lothario.  What if he was really staring at the drooling sleeper next to me on the subway car?  Or worse, laughing at the coffee stain on my work shirt that I only noticed when I got home?  Gah!  I'm not really known for being great in the love department.  Sure, there have been boys, most of whom have been emotional fuckwits.. And then there was that thing with Wes...

I am pulled from my reflection by Paisley grabbing my arm and leading me towards my room.  "Stop creating distractions.  My Tru-love is not on the discussion table tonight.  You are posting an ad and that's final.  Otherwise, I am never letting you leave this apartment again."

I sighed and reluctantly followed her to my bedroom.  All I wanted to do was plop down on my bed and be done with this conversation.  It was a moment; it happened.  I don't need to see him again, it's fine. Even if that steamy glance did make every part of me feeling like it was on fire.  I trust that a little work out with my Rabbit and a good sleep with knock it out of my system. 

"Laptop, now," Paisley commands, with her open palm facing me.  I sigh, and dig it out from under a pile of clothes before handing it to her. "Good girl.  Now what shall we write?"

I watch as Paisley adeptly manipulates the keys, finding the website and procuring the desired section. She then turns the computer to face me and I pause, staring at an empty form.  Oh shit.  My resolve crumbles.  It doesn't hurt to try.  If he doesn't see it, no big deal.  If he does, maybe I'll get to have an explosion in my cherry-bomb and leave the vibrator for another time.  I gently take the laptop, and type the following:

I draw the cursor over the "Publish" button, my fingers hesitating momentarily, and then I click.