One of the great advantages of having a significant other, is that they are an easy go-to reason to turn down anyone who might want your phone number and/or to go on a date with you.

Not that anyone owes anyone else an explanation for rejection after just having met. I should really just learn to smile and say a firm, “No thanks!” but I just get way too chatty and nervous for that, and I’d rather not lie, even to a stranger. 

I just have a hard time coming up with a polite way to say “Yeah, I’ve really enjoyed talking with you too…just not enough to care if I ever do it again in my life,” especially when I’ve been blind-sided.

And often my incurable optimism pipes up and convinces me that maybe the person in question will win me over, given a chance.

Consequently, I occasionally wind up giving my phone number to people, who, while perfectly nice, I am not terribly excited about hearing from.

This happened recently, and when the gentleman in question contacted me, I decided to nip things in the bud, by telling him that while it was nice to meet him, I was actually seeing someone and was waiting to see if we were going to make things exclusive. I told him I would give him a shout if my situation changed.

It was close enough to the truth and walked a nice line between polite and firm.

He seemed to accept that and said that he’d leave the ball in my court.

Perfect.

I breathed a quick sigh of relief and moved on.

However, two weeks later, wouldn’t you know there was a new text from him, asking to get together with me the following weekend.

While I guess I admire his persistence, I was left with some questions:

If the ball was in my court, what exactly did he just lob my way?

Was there another ball in another court he just went and nabbed? How the heck many balls are there? Did he sneak into my court and steal my ball? That’s got to be against regulations.

And what sport is it we’re playing, exactly?

In the end, I decided it was dodgeball and left it at that.

Dear people who claim feminism is no longer relevant since women have the right to vote, 

When your fridge is empty and you go to the grocery store, do you pick up the first item on your list, shrug, say “good enough” and then go home and eat milk for a week? 

 Just curious. 

Living in the city has taken a few adjustments on my part, but every so often I try to get it to adjust to me.

Occasionally I appreciate the anonymity offered by city streets (walking home from Bikram in giant sweatpants, bathed in my own sweat being one example), but for the most part, I miss the cozy sense of community that comes from something as simple as acknowledging the presence of the people you’re sharing the sidewalk with.

While I’m not about to try and hello-bomb every person rushing past me as I dash down the escalator to the subway, I feel it is perfectly reasonable to greet the people I pass on my own quiet residential street. Especially if I recognize them as neighbours.

My ex initially tried to get me to curb my hello habit.

“You know this is the city, right? You don’t have to do that.”

But, once I had set my mind to it, there was no going back.

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to keep doing it until the entire city is a friendlier place. Or, at least until our immediate neighbours stop looking at me like I’m from Blargon 6 and start smiling and saying hello back like polite human beings.”

Now I know that happiness comes from within, etc. but I also know that a friendly greeting from a neighbour or even a complete stranger can put a smile on your face and make you more likely to go a little out of your way or your comfort zone to do something to brighten someone else’s day.

So. Nearly two years later, I have still not given up. I have however, concentrated my efforts.

There was one particularly sullen gentleman who I found myself crossing paths with each morning as he walked his adorable puppy. After a couple of exchanges primarily involving me talking to his dog, while he glowered silently from within his hoodie, I made my move.

“I’m Sarah, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. I will be stopping to pet your dog every morning. Have a nice day!”

He grunted his name and slunk away as I trotted off to work and I was pretty sure he would immediately revise his dog-walking schedule to avoid me forever.

But, the next morning, there he was. And the next. Begrudgingly hello-ing back until finally, one day without provocation he said:

“I like your shoes.”

I considered it a victory.