Dear Mr. President, Let Me Tell You About My Bad Dates...
December 31, 2012 The Honorable Barack Obama and Mrs. Obama The White House Greetings Office Room 39 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Washington, DC 20500
Dear Mr. President and Mrs. Obama:
I recently learned that when a couple gets engaged they can send you an invitation to their wedding and you will reply with a letter of congratulations. I think this is a wonderful tradition and I am sure many couples keep their letters forever as a keepsake. It must be thrilling to receive mail from The White House!
My name is Meredith and I am 27 years old, live in Maine, and have voted for you twice. I am currently single but feel that my singledom is something which should be celebrated. Why? Well, there is a long list of men I could have married and the fact that I did not do so is something wonderful.
To give you a little glimpse of those people I could have walked down the aisle towards, here is a small list:
My first boyfriend who told me he loved me on date number three. I was a hostess at a restaurant at the time and after a few months of dating, he came in with a group of friends. When I sat them at a table he said to me, “This isn’t going to work.” I asked where he’d like to sit instead. His reply? “No, you and me. That’s what isn’t gonna work.” Yes, I got dumped in public with a group of his friends watching in the middle of my shift during the dinner rush.
A man who thought monogamy was me not finding out about all the other women. Unfortunately, I did. Mostly because I worked with one of them.
A man who told me he worked in the Professional Golf industry. Come to find out he worked in the golf section of Dick’s Sporting Goods. (Don’t worry, I told him I worked as a bikini model…A.K.A. I have been to a beach).
A man who told me, within minutes of us meeting, that he didn’t know what to call me since he had never known a Meredith before. He decided to call me Mermaid. I kid you not.
A gay dentist. There is nothing wrong with being gay and I voted for gay people to be able to marry, but I meant each other, not me.
A man who, after nearly a year of dating, could not stay monogamous on a seven-day cruise.
The worst kisser in the whole wide world. Really, he was. I felt assaulted and he used my favorite thing—kissing—as his weapon of choice.
A man who, when I asked him what his guilty pleasure was, replied: “Married chicks.”
Someday I hope to send you an invitation to my wedding, but until then, I think I deserve a letter of congratulations for not having married any of those guys right there. I may not have met Mr. Right yet, but at least I haven’t married Mr. Wrong.
Like this story from Meredith? Read more from her at her blog.