Dear Cheater-To-Be,

You were so charming, you gave me your phone number and asked me to call. I waited a few days and then I dialed that number. Carefully punching in the numbers, the phone range twice before a feminine voice answered. I asked for you and she said that you were in the shower, but could she take a message for me? I leave my name. And then she makes a mention of how her fiancee had never mentioned me before. Yes, so that was a rather rude awakening.

What kind of person are you that you charm a girl into thinking that you're into her, that you give her your phone number and then you're engaged, as in to be married? Do you understand the meaning of an exclusive relationship? Are you without intelligence and thought that rings don't count unless you have one on your finger as well, or would you continue to attempt to pick up girls on the train even though you have a fiancee or a wife at home waiting for you?

I didn't burst your bubble. I didn't tell her that I was the girl you had tried to pick up on the train. I was a little too shocked to do that. But the next time I see you...

I hope I don't see you again.

Dear Gorgeous ,

I met on the train yesterday and I know that you remember me. It had been raining hard yesterday morning and you somehow managed to snag a seat on the train while I had to stand near you. With a swift jerk of the train on the tracks, I stumbled backwards and your lap just happened to cushion my fall. You chuckled and gave me a smile and went "If you wanted to start talking to me that badly... All you had to was tell me."

I blushed and apologized quickly and started to stand up again when you told me that you were fine with me there, sitting on your lap like that. I stood up anyways and murmured my apology again. You introduced yourself and I introduced myself as well. You asked me if you could use a line on me ('Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?') because you were afraid that you would just never get to use that line again. I laughed and agreed and you asked me the question and I told you that it didn't hurt because you cushioned my fall. You chuckled warmly at that. At the next station, a seat near you opened up so I sat down and we started having a conversation in earnest.

You seemed interested in me and didn't seem to fight the urge to run away when you found out my age - seventeen. You were quick witted with your comments and wanted to know more about me, so I shared. You shared as well and when we got to a train station where you were going to get off to meet a friend, you asked me if you could give me your phone number. I agreed, and you ripped off the corner of a looseleaf piece of paper and scribbled down your first name and your phone number. I regret to inform you that I haven't called you yet.

Yesterday afternoon, I had fallen asleep on the bus going home and it arrived at the 'end of the line' and I was still sleeping. You saw me and woke me up by gently shaking my shoulder. When I woke up, you smiled down at me and told 'Sleeping Beauty' to wake up. I gave you a smile and got up, joining in the queue of people lining up to disembark the bus.

And today? Today I saw you again on the train coming home. You had a seat and I did not as I wasn't near the front of the pack of people hungry for seats. You asked me if I wanted to fall into your lap again and I told you that I was fine standing, you looked disappointed and confirmed it vocally as well. You asked me how my day was and I answered honestly, truthfully. You asked me if I had a boyfriend and I answered that honestly as well. No. You smiled at that answer and then continued chatting.

And then after a while, I noticed that you had stopped calling me 'Michelle' and started calling me 'Tink' instead. I questioned this usage of a nickname that had no meaning to me. you told me that Tink stood for Tinkerbelle and that I was small, pixie-like and flighty. I protested that I wasn't flighty and you just shook your head and went 'Flighty.. And pixie-like too.'

I suppose when compared you, I am small. Considering my height and your height of ~6 feet. I especially like your hair (dark brown) and eyes (brown). You have an infectious smile and it made me smile too. You are considerably good at brightening up a girl's day, you should know.

You should also know that all the compliments that you've been giving me are all going to go straight to my head.

Dear Chat-A-Lot,

There are just some things that people shouldn't talk about in public and on a bus full of people that they have never met before. This is particularly true if you are having a phone sex conversation with your significant other and can't seem to keep quiet about it.

Now I'm sure that you're a really nice woman. You seemed to be dressed nicely, what with your corporate businesswoman attire. The short black heels were obviously for comfortable as well as fashion, the black hose, the black shirt and the buttoned up blouse. You were very well put together. I almost thought that I was hearing things. Until I turned around and realized that yes indeed that all the phone sex talk was coming from you.

I mean, it was enough to have me turning red and you carried on the conversation as if you did it often on the bus (perhaps you do?). People around you (and myself) seemed quite uncomfortable with it though. There was a woman who was coughing loudly when you attempted to murmur the phrase 'Are you coming yet for me, baby?' as if to get your attention that you were, in fact, on public transit!

Obviously it is a good thing that you're comfortable in your relationship with your significant other that you can engage in a session of phone sex. But on the bus? I mean, all those things you were telling him to do (eg. 'Go pull the zipper down now babe, yeah.. That's it.. And put your hand there.. And just go slow...'). Whew... Was it hot on the bus today or was it just me?

And I do realize that you were attempting to murmur your directions to him, but the thing is, lady, that you were on a bus where there was the sounds of outside traffic and the bus' engine. You were not doing a very good job of murmuring at all! I'm sure that you thought that you were though. But you just weren't doing a very good job of it at all.

Maybe next time.. Just don't do it on the bus? (Yes, that was an intentional pun.) If you must engage in a phone sex conversation where you were giving your significant other directions of when they should be touching themselves and how hard they should be holding onto themselves, don't do it on public transit? Maybe wait until you get home. Or dash into a public washroom somewhere. Or even in an empty elevator! Just watch out for those that have security cameras, wouldn't want the security guard getting on you telling someone what to do with themselves.

But for all that effort you put into directing the man on the other half of the conversation, I hope he did eventually, you know, come.

Dear Happy Couple,

This morning at approximately 11:20am, I was on the bus on a rather busy street. This bus pulled to a stop at a bus stop (go figure) and I just happened to be glancing out the window as I was lucky enough to snag a window seat. Which is not that great, at the same time, since the windows are a little grimy and people rest their heads against it and it's just covered with bacteria and it's probably never been cleaned.

So, as I was recalling, I glanced out the window and saw the two of you together. At first it seemed innocent enough, the two of you were in an intimate embrace across the street in front of the window of a store. I thought it was innocent enough, at least. Until I noticed that there was something a little off. I couldn't put my finger on it at first. So I was just staring for a moment until it hit me. Between the two of you (and there were two people, trust me) there was only one set of legs! Now this didn't make sense to me at all. And then it hit me.

The two of you were having sexual intercourse in broad daylight! Well truthfully, it was a little gloomy what with the clouds and light rain... But still! You two were having sexual intercourse on the sidewalk in front of a store window. It amazed me at first, that the two of you were that comfortable with yourselves and each other to be doing that.

At which point I realized that I was staring so I looked away (definitely looked away).

But at the same time, I did admire the two of you. I mean, gosh, I wish I had the confidence to do that. Well, not really wish I would do that, but you get what I mean, right? It's just that air of confidence, being able to be that intimate with someone in such a public setting. I wouldn't be envious if you two had been charged with public indecency though. But still, I mean, at least the two of you are getting some.

That's a good reason to be a little envious, right?

Dear Benevolent Stranger,

I saw you on the train this afternoon. It was about 2:40pm and I had just managed to get onto said train. The doors had been closing and you put your hand out to hold the door open for me. I thanked you and you sat back down (somehow you managed to get the only free seat left in the car). I stood, my bag on the ground at my feet. There were quite a bit of people on the train already, despite the fact that the normal workday hadn't ended yet. You were reading this month's issue of HUB: Canada. I only know it was this month's issue because I have an identical issue on my kitchen table, courtesy of my father. You had a black Creative Zen Vision: M and were intently listening to your music. I was surprised because I rarely see people with a DAP (Digital Audio Player) like mine (however, mine is white and therefore is often mistaken for a 'really weird looking' iPod).

You didn't appear to be paying attention to anyone in particular on the train, considering you were so busy reading your magazine and listening to music. You had scuffed black boots on, a worn pair of blue jeans and a black jacket over what looked to be a ratty tee-shirt that had probably seen better days.

About three stops later, the car was crowded and people were pushing and shoving (I managed to get a seat so I wasn't standing there until my stop). And this woman walks onto the train car and you were the only one who seemed to notice her. You jump up and quickly offer her your seat. She makes a motion as if you shouldn't fuse over her, she was going to be getting off the train in two stops anyways. You insist, telling her that someone as pretty as she is shouldn't have to stand. With her pale skin and white hair, she blushes and I could see the blush extending to the top of her head where it showed through her thin white hair. You gesture again to the seat and she says her thanks and sits down.

So you were pretty much everyone's rescuer today. You held the door open for me, you offered your seat to a woman when no one else did. If karma exists, I see an excellent next life for you.

I hope you had a good rest-of-the-day.

Dear Pick-Me-Up,

Thursday afternoon, when I was going home from school after what I would probably consider an okay biology lab exam, I was on the bus going towards the train station. I had been a little down all day, cramming upon hours of studying and I was sitting on the bus (I had been near the front of the line piling on) and you got on and sat down next to me. I wasn't really paying attention to you and I opened my backpack and piled out my copy of Watership Down by Richard Adams. You must have seen the cover of the book because you commented on it, that you had read it before.

I turned my head to acknowledge your existence and comment about the book. And aren't I ever glad that I did? You introduced yourself, saying how you live for reading books. And I understood that statement easily as I love reading books as well. We started to talk to one another and you eventually took off your jacket after spending about 15 minutes on the very crowded bus. We discovered that our literary tastes were quite similar - you said that you cared very little for Christopher Paolini's Eragon and Eldest as well. I think I fell in love a little for that comment. You weren't one of those people who thought that Paolini was the one of the world's greatest fantasy authors, you even made a comment about how his stories were pointless. I think I fell in love a little more for that comment.

You were dressed quite smartly, but still recognizable as a student. Faded knees in your probably once dark blue jeans you had on a dark gray tee-shirt that looked really good on you. You had sunglasses hooked onto the neck of your shirt, previously had on a black windbreaker and you had just enough facial hair that it looked scruffy but just oh-so-delectable. Your light brown eyes carried the smile that graced your lips and you had just the kind of voice that made me want to swoon. But it's no longer the 17th century and modern-day swooning is kind of frowned on so I refrained from doing so.

What should have tipped me off about your age was the fact that you were almost finished completing your Masters degree. As in, after your Bachelors. It really should have tipped me off that you were at least 4 years older than I am. But... It didn't. Until the bus was about two stops away from the train station and you asked if you could give me your phone number.

I felt compelled to ask you how old you were. And when you told me, I felt a little queasy in an 'oh why does this keep on happening to me' kind of way. I fell silent and you asked me how old I was. And we both did the mental calculation in our heads. Nine years is kind of noticeably large. And then you smile and shrug your shoulders and go 'Hey, maybe in a year or two, eh?'. You gave me your email address - I still have yet to do anything with it. But you made my afternoon a little brighter, despite how bleak it really is. So thank you for that.

You were a very nice transit partner for those 40-odd minutes on the bus, so thank you. I'm just sorry that you weren't a little younger and me just a little older.

Thank you.

Dear Woman with the God-Complex,

I was sitting on the bus late this afternoon when you and your daughter got on. She is perhaps four years old and had her curly hair tied back with neatly curled ribbons and she had a matching dress, white knee socks, shiny black shoes and a matching rain poncho. I couldn't help but think that perhaps you had chosen her outfit out for her. Which probably isn't very far off it's mark as your outfit just happened to be all black while her main colour was baby pink.

She was sitting there, legs crossed just like her mommy and about every five seconds you would lean over and touch your hand to the small of her back and she would sit straighter, like someone had put a straight bar of iron behind her and told her to make sure her entire back was touching it. You scolded her when she reached to touch her hand to the window, telling her that was it was very dirty and that she wasn't allowed to touch it. She pouted and you scolded her some more, threatening to take away her toys at home. With that comment, she pouted some more and wanted to know when the two of you would be home.

You just look down at her and bite out the word 'soon' and go back to reading today's paper. I was appalled by your behavior, certainly. But far be it for me to judge your parenting skills. And despite the fact that I really wanted to say something, I kept my mouth shut.

Then your daughter proceeded to tell you about what 'Al' had just told her. From what I could gather, Al was your daughter's (imaginary) friend. But you kept on telling her that Al was just made up and that he wasn't really there, that he didn't existed. you told her to stop making up stories, that Al wasn't really there and if he was, he would tell you to stop making up stories.

I watched your daughter cross her arms, her eyes get watery and then she protested. I was nearly going to start applauding her for standing up for herself.

"But Mommy, Al is real! He's sitting right there!"

She points to a seemingly empty seat and start telling you that Al is making funny faces and blowing a raspberry, she demonstrates. And you get angry at her for 'acting out' and 'trying to get attention'.

At the next stop you two get off and she starts pulling at your arm to stop you from leaving because Al wasn't up from his seat yet. And then you just pick her up around her waist and take her off the bus, and as the bus is pulling away, she's screaming for Al because you'd left him on the bus with a 'bunch of strangers'.

That little girl probably wasn't even in kindergarten yet and all she wanted was you to wait possibly five seconds for Al to catch up and you just picked her up and took her off the bus without regarding her feelings. And when I looked back after hearing her screaming for him? You just continued walking with her looking over your shoulder, arms stretched out, mouth open in mid-scream.

When I was four, because my older siblings were so much older than I was, and I hadn't started school yet, I had my fair share of imaginary friends too. The neighborhood that I lived in didn't have that many children close to my age (and still doesn't). My parents probably did think that it was weird, but they never questioned it. They just played along, occasionally going as far as addressing my imaginary friends only for me to to go 'they aren't over there, mom, they're here'. To a child who has no siblings close to their own age or neighborhood children to play with, an imaginary friend or (mostly in my case, being Collie - a polar bear) a stuffed animal (that only comes to life with the Grown Ups aren't around) is basically all they really have in terms of someone to play with. I had tea parties and dress-up games with my stuffed animals. I would build forts out of the couch cushions and set up specific stuffies to be my 'tower guards' and the other ones would all get their own respective roles.

I hope you open the door someday this week only to have your daughter dance around the room and go 'Al's back, Mommy, he's back!'. Because your daughter needs someone to spend time with other than a maternal figure who couldn't wait for her friend to get off the bus too or a maternal figure who doesn't let her child exercise her creativity to its maximum potential.

Al should meet Collie one day, I think they would get along well.

Dear Ignorant Woman,

You walked onto the bus before I did yesterday afternoon, your head held high and you were wearing a bright purple swishy skirt and a black coat that didn't look particularly waterproof and looked like it had once seen better days. You had black boots that were scuffed and you had your hair pulled back with a sparkly pink headband that had a pony on it - a yellow one.

And you seemed like a perfectly decent adult woman, until you opened your mouth the first time after you sat down.

You started chatting with the woman sitting near you, about just how horrible teenagers are that live around you. About how teenagers were always getting drunk, and smoking on your front lawn. About how when you were a teenager that everyone was just so mean to you and how they are continually awful as the years go by. You talk about how the kids were always getting into alcohol and cigarettes and about how this one time, you knew this fourteen year old girl who had gotten drunk, beat up on her mother and stole the family car.

And then you shot a glare at me and went "And teenager girls are just the worse of them all".

And at that, I had to speak up. I don't exactly take crap like that sitting down.

Well, I was sitting down, but that is another story entirely.

You asked me if I was a teenager, and I answered honestly with a 'yes'.

And then you just sneered and nodded your head at that. Going 'uh huh' like that was suddenly permission for you to glare at me some more and just think that I'm a budding alcoholic and a drug addict and generally a bad person.

I'm sorry. But you, you fucking stupid bitch, are a stranger to me. You don't know me, you don't know what I have or have not done before in my life. I'm sure that teenage girls when you were a teenager girl were horrible to you. But then, hey, what goes around comes around. You were probably not a total sweetheart yourself at that age and you even said that your father threatened to beat you if you ever laid a hand on your mother. Yeah, you actually had to be warned prior to causing physical harm to your mother. On the other hand, my father never had to threaten to hurt me to warn me off from hurting my mother since I never had the urge to cause her physical harm. I don't drink, I don't smoke or play with recreational drugs, I don't sleep around and don't have any sexually transmitted diseases.

Yes, it may surprise you but I did hear that nasty little comment you said about how "All teenage girls have just dozens of STDs. Little nasty whores, all of them."

And when I tried to put in a word, trying to explain that perhaps you knew the slutty kids in high school but how not all kids were like that, you just steamrolled me and continued on about how "all teenage girls" were just nasty human beings that were scuzzy and disease-ridden and pregnant whores.

You, lady, are an idiot. But because karma is a bitch, I picture you three years in the future with at least a dozen STDs (I'm more generous than you are, I don't picture you with 'just dozens' of STDs), very lonely and being harassed by those former-teenage girls at your 20th high school reunion.

Have a nice life?

Dearest Boy on the Train,

You know who you are. Grey sweatpants, yellow tee-shirt and a bright smile to match. You certainly made my day. It helped that you approached me, smiles and all and so eager to make a good impression: trust me, you really did.

It was nice of your mom not to follow you as you approached a random stranger on the train, the way you were nervous and sort of wringing your hands like you had done something wrong and then you spoke to me. You introduced yourself, gave me your name, your age, all smiles. And my heart went out to you when you had trouble finding your words, but what you said really made me smile. For that, you get a happy letter from the girl you met on the train. Even though you are only twelve, you are certainly more perceptive than some people of the same gender that you are that should know better when they're eighteen or in their mid-forties. See, you're cool in my eyes.

So thank you so much for the compliment. You can't go wrong with having Prison Break as your favourite television show or Sum 41 as your favourite band. (Although, you could do better with Grey's Anatomy and The Ataris, but that's a bit of a personal preference.)

You are perhaps the most awesome twelve year old ever to come up and talk to me. And thank you so much for the compliment.

The Girl On the Train

Dear Woman With the Red Scarf,

We were on the same bus together today at about 4pm. You had on a white jacket, black pants and a red scarf. Plus, you were carrying a brown leather bag that was bursting with random things that kept on falling out and you were chatting on your cell phone.

Thank you so very much for glancing around the bus with disdain when you realized that you had to stand up because all the seats were taking. Also thank you for enlightening us with your cell phone conversation because you were practically shouting what you were saying.

I apologize that you had to endure your bus ride of all of 10 minutes with a 'bus full of freaks'. It must have done horrible things to your ego to be on a bus full of people that weren't of the same ethnic group as the one you were born into. I especially loved the way you glanced around and started telling your 'sweetums' on the other end of the phone conversation that you were stuck on a bus full of 'terrorists' and 'suicide bombers'. That and you went on about 'chinks' and 'Japs'. It was so very polite of you to do that.

And then there was how you were glancing around and saying just how unsafe you felt because there were so many of 'those people' on board the bus (you know, that comment you made after saying just how full the bus was of all those "damn terrorists").

With your bleach-blonde hair and hate-filled blue eyes, I'm sure that Hitler would have loved to meet you.

I sincerely hope that I never see you again because you were just a horrible bitch. If you have such a problem with people that aren't of Scandinavian descent, I suggest moving to northern Europe. Just a little suggestion.

Cheers.

Dearest Gorgeous and Delicious Stranger,

You, dear stranger, are an amazing sample of what the male gender of this species has to offer. You were wearing clean clothing (black dress pants, white buttoned shirt and a black jacket) and seemed to have interesting taste in music in what I could hear blaring from your iPod earbuds (For all those who care, it was The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus' Your Guardian Angel).

I couldn't believe my luck when you sat down next to me, to me! Granted, it was the only seat available on the close-to-being crowded train car, but that's okay. I love you for sitting next to me anyways.

With a sidelong glance that I hope wasn't too obvious, I noticed that you were clean shaven, no visible nicks or cuts from your shave this morning. Always good, a girl likes to know that a guy knows how to use a razor properly. Plus, you smelled really nice. The cologne? Very nice touch. You should model for the company that makes it. Really, you should. Or you should become a Calvin Klein model... It was all I could do to refrain from drooling at your delectable form sitting so very close to me.

During the fifteen long, wonderful minutes that you sat next to me, I came to the conclusion that you are perhaps the most perfect male specimen in the whole wide world. You even had an intriguing pair of piercings underneath your lower lip. Very yummy indeed. And your height when you were standing was to die for, the way your dark brown hair was perhaps an inch away from the top of the door frame... I'd like to climb you any day of the week.

But my fantasies were soon cut short when an equally beautiful man came onto the train and you greeted him with such enthusiasm and affection and with a kiss that set off a jealous pang inside of me.

Thank you anyways for those lovely fifteen minutes where you sat there and graced me with your perfect presence. You are still incredibly gorgeous and I wish you didn't have a boyfriend.

From the girl who sat there, silent and trying very hard not to visibly drool