Seven years ago, I lived with eleven other housemates in a New York brownstone. As a newly-minted librarian with a low salary in a high-cost city, I couldn’t have asked for a better living situation. Of course we got on each other’s nerves sometimes, but for the most part, it was one long pajama party.
My friend Alexandria said that when it came to dating, being in New York was like walking into the largest candy store in the world and having no money. To cheer us up, I wrote little personals ads for everyone in the house. The ads weren't for the purposes of publication. A little morale-boost among my housemates was my intent. Since I couldn't write a personals ad for myself, Alexandria wrote one for me:
Sensuous storyteller, tea drinker and folder of all things paper seeks curious and mischievous man with strong spirit and hands. Do stuffed grape-leaves and good pesto make you weak? Come sit by my fire and I’ll tell you lovely tales.
A few months later, Bede showed up in New York. He had heard a rumor from a mutual friend that I’d always had a crush on him, and he decided to cross the country to investigate the rumor. I lured him to the rooftop of the brownstone with a bottle of Irish whiskey, a copy of Ulysses, and the story of "The Three Princes."
That week, I showed Bede the scrap of paper with the personals ad Alexandria wrote for me. Two years later, we got married.
What’s your story? (Pseudonyms are perfectly acceptable, as are tasteful embelleshments.)