Dear Finite Girl

I'm sure you're not a stupid girl. But I'm being very generous when I say this because I overheard this conversation that you were having with your friend on the train. She was showing off her new tattoo and you had the most pathetic exchange of words.

Y= You, F = Your Friend

Y: Why'd you get the number 8 tattooed onto yourself?
F: It's the infinity symbol.
Y: No, that's an 8.

See, you can't be that unintelligent if you're capable of realizing that it appears to be the number 8. Right...? But what you failed to notice (and what I did see) was that she was holding out her arm to show you the tattoo on her wrist. And one could say that it was an sideways 8 (if they were you) or they could say that it was an infinity symbol (∞) if you were anyone else.

But you looked to be about in high school, considering your biology 11 textbook (so why were you on the train at 1:20pm on a school day?), so you *probably should have recognized* that it had the possibility of an infinity symbol, especially when your friend corrected you.

But hey... At least you're taking biology and not math, right?

Sincerely,
Girl who can turn her head sideways...

Dear Snot-Girl,

I was on the train yesterday when I noticed you. There wasn't anything particularly odd about you when I first noticed you. Until I realized what exactly you were doing.

Because, honestly, it's hard not to notice a girl talking on her cell phone with a finger sticking straight up her nose.

I averted my eyes at first, looking out the window, until out of the corner of my eye, I saw what you were doing once your finger left your nose. You continued talking on the phone, wiped your finger on the empty seat next to you, glanced down at your finger and then back in it went into your nose.

Which is disgusting. What if someone had done the same thing to the seat you were sitting in? Are you trying to spread germs? (Not that germs really need any help!) But it is just bad practice to pick your nose in public and then wipe it onto a surface that other people will touch. Have you heard of tissues? Or perhaps your own clothes that you will be wearing that are already exposed to all the pathogens that could be in your own mucous? Did you consider that?

Because, in case you haven't known, some people with comprised immune systems or chronic immune disorders are incredibly bad with common ailments that your immune system (or mine) could knock out in under a day. Some people with comprised immune systems can die from really common things, like a seasonal flu (or H1N1) or the common cold.

And, considering the statistics textbook and the school planner you were carrying, I'm guessing you were at least in 2nd year university.

Which means that you should know better. A lot better.

Sincerely,
Girl with better social skills

Dear The Navigational Challenged,

I spent my morning standing on the train today, it was good fun, until it reached the station where I get off. I wasn't impressed with the transit system today and I anticipated the train being overly crowded (I wasn't disappointed by that, at least) but then I was subjected to listening to you talk on the train, which was just not pleasant at all.

You were on your cell phone, talking to someone about how you were just 15 minutes away from the station where you needed to get off. Which is funny, because you were a) going in the opposite direction and b) you were approximately 40 minutes (and counting) away from the station.

Then as the trained slowed to a stop, it announced which station it was at and you were telling your friend that it was incorrect (I guess they heard it) and you knew exactly where you were going. Then you said that you had to go and looked up and around and then frowned and then leaned yourself over to the girl next to you (am I thankful I didn't snag that seat? A little, yes.) and asked her if this train took you to the station you wanted. Luckily she had a bit more skill with reading a simple map and informed you that you were going in the wrong direction.

You just shrugged and called your friend back, telling her or him that you'll be maybe 20 minutes instead. -buzzer sound- WRONG! Even if you transferred train lines, it'd still take you 40+ minutes to get there.

Perhaps next time, you really ought to just look up and check out the map?

Sincerely,
Girl who knows where she's going

Dear Mister Anatomy,

I spent roughly 30 minutes in a line up, holding onto roughly 20+ pounds (yes, lbs) of textbooks. Did I do it because I thought it would be fun? Umm... No. I did it because I needed this Human Anatomy and Physiology textbook for my biology course. Which is all fine and dandy. I had my backpack on, I was holding onto the textbooks in my arms in front of me and I got onto the bus with no problem. The bus ride was fine, my legs were a little sore from having so much weight on them for a relatively long period of time - but that was okay.

Then I got to the train station. I got a seat and I had my bag on the floor in front of me between my legs and my brand new textbooks on my lap. The cover was facing up (it's a woman doing ballet, it's actually a rather pretty photograph) with the words 'Anatomy and Physiology - 8th edition' clearly staring up at the ceiling of the train car.

And my transit experience today had so far been going fairly well - until you came along. You got onto the train car and sat down next to me. You tilted your head a little to check out the title of my textbook and then you made this stellar comment:

You really don't have to take a class on anatomy, you know. I could help teach you about the male anatomy.

I politely declined and you looked a bit disappointed, but then you gathered up your things and told me to reconsider it before you left the train car after the doors opened at the next station.

I never like being hit on while I'm riding public transit - it just makes me feel disgusted and wondering what the hell I'm doing wrong that I do get attention like this (and please, no one comment with "well if you stopped having your hair in pigtails while holding onto a clipboard with your school's insignia on it..."). But I don't know, what does a girl do in a situation such as this?

Sincerely,
Girl with the Heavy Bag

Dear Ghost Girl,

I was sitting in the train car first. Listening to music and minding my own business. I had my arms around my unfortunately heavy backpack and watched as the train rolled to stop at the next station to let people on. You walked in and sat down right across the aisle from me.

There was this moment when I just thought I recognized you. But something was different that made me hesitate to say your name out loud. Perhaps it was the sunglasses covering your face, perhaps it was the fact that you were keeping to yourself, as people tend to do on public transit. Perhaps it was because you looked more pale than usual, more white as a sheet, more ghost like. Or even perhaps it was because your hair was far too dark to be you. There were just so many things that were different that made me hesitate.

What if I say the wrong name? What if everyone looks at me like I'm crazy for randomly spouting off someone's name in the middle of the train car? What if you had earphones in and couldn't hear me speak?

But despite the sunglasses, your ghost-like appearance and the too-dark hair, I spoke your name out loud only to have you look up and go 'Hey!'.

So I guess in reality, this is not a letter to stranger. But sometimes, just sometimes, girls who are surrounded by perverts, morons and disgusting people on public transit are rescued by someone that she knows.

Sincerely,
Not-Mistaken

Dear Jerk/Asshole,

While I was on my way home today, I happened to get a seat on the train. Which is rather nice (and was expected, considering I get on at the first station). But then you got on at the next station and you started talking. Loudly, might I add.

While I appreciate that everyone feels that the trains are overly crowded (they are, as it is common for back-to-school) and everyone feels that there aren't enough seats (or rather, there's not enough train cars), I do have one complaint about your conversation that you were having with your friend.

You stated (and I quote): All women are either bimbos or hags. They'll either put out on the first date or expect you to wait until they get a ball and chain around your ankle.

Now let's assume that you are correct. urbandictionary.com tells me that a bimbo is "A girl who is stupid, wears lots of make up and is obsessed with boys and clothes. Generally blonde but there are exceptions. Usually hang around with other bimbos. You can spot them because they will be the big group of girls that all look the same and are giggling hysterically." The definition for a hag is "An unattractive, middle-aged (or slightly older) woman. The term is commonly used to describe hysterical or ugly women in positions of power."

Now, if this were true (and all women are either a bimbo or a hag) then I am either stupid, with a face caked with makeup, obsessed with both men and clothing and blonde. Or, I'm unattractive, middle-aged (or older) and in a position of power.

Well. I can't be a bimbo because I don't wear an absurd amount of makeup and I don't think that I'm that stupid. And I can't be a hag because I'm not middle-aged or in a position of power. Then what on earth am I?

I think you need to throw in a third category for everyone who's not stuffy, stupid or power-hungry.

Let's call it "women who just act like themselves and don't fall into a stereotype". But let's just say that you're right and that all women are bimbos or hags. Because I'm sure if someone were to argue with you while we were on the train, you would have called them one or the other.

And while we're at it, how about we could it up with only two categories for men: Jerks and Assholes. Guess which one you fit into!

Sincerely,
Girl Without Stereotype

Dear Little Girl,

I was minding my own business while I was sitting down on the train, honest. It was not my fault that you and your equally young looking friend sat down down in front of me. At first glance, I would have said that you two were around grade 10, 16 years old or so. And goodness, wasn't I surprised when I overheard your conversation? (F is 'friend' and Y is 'you')

F: You're so lucky! You've got to be the only girl in our school dating someone that's four years older!
Y: I know, right? He's awesome.
F: And cute. I can't believe you're dating a guy in grade 11.

[Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it. Grade 11? Four years older? That's right readers, depending on when he and she were both born, she's either in grade 7 or grade 8.]

Y: Yeah, I was talking to my mom last night.
F: Oh, what did she say?
Y: She's totally cool with it. She said that if I'm dating a guy in grade 11, I should expect that he'll want me to put out. She made us appointments so that I can everything wax.
F: Oh, that's so exciting!

You're in grade 7 (or 8, I don't know when you were born). That means you're either 12 or 13. And you're dating someone who's in grade 11 (ages 16 or 17)? And your mother allows this? She's even encouraging you do to this by taking you out to get waxed? That is not exciting, that is painful. Very, very, very painful. I cannot believe that your mother is telling you that the boy would expect to have sex (although it is true) and then encouraging it further by getting you ready for it.

When I was 12, my largest concern was if my crush-of-the-week liked me back. Your biggest concern at 12? Bikini or Brazilian. Does that sound remotely normal in today's society? You should be worrying about regular pre-teen stuff. Like when the new episode of Gossip Girl is going to be on, not having your mother tell you that you're going to be expected to spread your legs, so you better get ready. And what does that say about your grade 11 boyfriend? He can't get a girl in high school? He can't get a girl his own age? He has to resort to someone who's barely a teenager? It's a social taboo to be dating someone that many years older/younger than you are when you're still in grade school.

Seriously, once you get out of high school, flirting and dating and kissing guys that are like 6 years older than you, is not that big of a deal because when you talk about him, you're not going 'Oh, he's in grade 11'. It's more like 'Oh, he works [here]' or 'He goes to the same university/college as I do'. That's fine.

Besides, the legal age for sex in Canada is 14. You're (at most) 13. Seriously, keep your legs shut and seriously think of why your oh-so-hot grade 11 boyfriend can't find a girl in high school to date.

(Please note, it's definitely not because you're more mature than they are.)

Dear Girl in Pink,

I was having a horrible day today. I generally do, whenever I just finish having a midterm that's worth more than 5% that I cannot even be sure if I passed or not. I managed to stay with a scowl on my face on the bus and for a short period of time on the train. I managed to keep this scowl until you can running onto the train car when it reached the station and your mom came jogging in after you.

You seemed to be quite young, maybe around two, and you needed your mother's help getting up onto the seat. You had a great big smile on your face and you nodded and shook your head at your mother's questions, sending your long pigtails swinging around your head. What I first noticed was the fact that you had on pink rainboots that happened to have yellow ducks on them as well. I thought that they were really cute and noticed that you had on a pink winter jacket as well. But what I really noticed, was how happily and gleefully you would giggle away when your mom hid her eyes from you and then revealed them again. You would giggle and giggle as if it was the greatest game ever invented. You just seemed so happy that she was playing Peek-A-Boo with you, that you were all smiles for your entire trip on the train.

And watching you get so excited and so happy other something that seemed so simple made me sad. When did I outgrow the peek-a-boo being enough to make me happy? When did I go from looking up and loving my parents unconditionally to rolling my eyes at their advice and being annoyed whenever they told me to do something? When did I get to the point that simple things didn't do as much as they used to when I was that age? It sad that we as a society have progressed to the point that simple things like that are only reserved for children. Simple gestures are overlooked, simple actions are disregarded, simple words are considered mundane. It's a sad thought that the world doesn't work like that, that in the society where I live, happiness is based almost solely on monetary value.

To show you love someone, you buy them a bouquet of roses, you don't go and pick wildflowers or grow them yourself. To thank someone, you send them a gift that you bought, rather than making something yourself. To make someone happy, you don't just cover your eyes and go 'peek-a-boo', you buy them something.

It is disheartening, but I must thank this Girl in Pink for reminding me that there were once simpler times. While those who are about the age of five can no longer see that, there are still some who can find happiness in what we consider to be simple acts of love.

Dear Disrespectful,

So the train platform was crowded like it normally is. There were a lot of people just waiting for the train to show up. Which is fine, because it's normal. However you were just standing there, patiently waiting with the rest of us. You appeared to be a nice old lady until the train arrived.

You pushed and shoved towards the doors, telling us all that you were elderly and needed to use a cane so that you ought to get onto the train first. You pushed me back and told me that people my age ought to wait until after everyone else had gotten a seat on the train first. Someone had to take a step back, towards you with his back turned to you, in order to let some people on the train off first. You started sputtering and demanded myself and another young person on the platform to help you by standing up for you.

We both claimed to not see a thing.

See, the problem with your logic is that you were demanding us to stand up for you, to defend you, when you were just this callous, cranky old woman who was demanding respect all because you were older than we were. Do you expect to receive a medal just for being alive longer than we have? I'm sorry, lady, but it just doesn't work that way. We bit our tongues to keep from lashing back at you.

We all piled onto the crowded train and then you reached out with your cane (the one that you don't even use when you're walking) to hit someone in the leg and then you barked at them, telling them that you are old and elderly (which is redundant, by the way) and everyone had to get off the train in order for you to even get to the seat, which the man gave up without a fight.

And just one stop later, you stood up and then hit someone repeatedly in the leg for them to move so that you can leave, even though there was enough room for you to leave and he wasn't even in your way.

You're a bitter, angry and hurtful woman. Just because you have been breathing longer than the rest of us doesn't give you the right to physically assault people with your cane (you know, the one that you don't even use when you're walking) and it certainly doesn't given you the right to push people around and expect them to defend you when someone pushes you back.

Grow the fuck up, and learn that you can't assume that people will respect you just because you're older than we are. Respect needs to be earned, and you certainly have not earned mine.

Dear 'Chimney',

I was standing on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive, and I happened to be standing next to a young mother with her baby in the stroller. They seemed nice, her baby was happily gurgling and waving to everyone she saw, such a sweetheart. And then you arrived.

You in your baggy jeans that were probably three sizes too large, you with your visible blue plaid boxers and your oversized sweatshirt that could have held you and two other people your size in it. You also happened to have a math textbook that was written to be geared towards students in grade six. Of course, that wasn't the problem. Far be it for me to judge you based only on your clothing.

My problem with you was not because of your age or your clothing or even the fact that you had questionable taste in music (a word of advice, if you don't want to go deaf by the age of 21, it's probably a good idea not listen to your music that loudly so that everyone around you can hear every single word in that ridiculous rap song about 'hos' and 'bitches'... just a word of advice).

No, it was mostly because you were smoking on the platform. And to make matters worse, you turned your head, every single time you were blowing out smoke, and blew it towards the young mother and her baby.

You might like the idea of developing lung cancer, having yellowed teeth, having bad circulation and not being able to run for short periods of time without gasping for breath, but the some people in the world don't like that. And considering a baby's lungs are the last of the major organs to develop when a fetus is developing, the lung tissue can be quite delicate. And, in addition, a child's immune system is always in the development stage. And you blowing cigarette smoke in the direction of a baby in a stroller when she can't get away from you or hold her breath until the smoke passes her by, doesn't help.

So the next time you feel the urge to have a cigarette on the train of the platform, maybe the rest of the world should be blowing something disgusting and unhealthy into your face so you can breath it in. Taste of your own medicine, after all.

Dear 'Granny',

So a few days ago, I was on the train. I was minding my own business and sat down and was listening to music (The Ataris, if anyone is interested in my musical tastes, although I doubt it) and then I wasn't really paying attention.

The first stop, which is a major one because it crosses with another train line, you got onto the train. You looked like a pleasant senior citizen. With your gray hair, flower-patterned bag, and you sat right down next to me and turned so that you were completely facing me and staring at me. Yes, it was incredibly awkward for me to be sitting there, knowing that you were just blatantly staring at me. Yes, I thought you were creepy and wanted to move. And no, I wasn't about t give up my seat when I was going to be on the train for the duration of 10 stops.

The next stop, however, one of the transit cops got on and started asking to see everyone's tickets. I pulled mine out, in a plastic protective case, and just held it up for the cop to see. I wasn't really paying attention to what you were doing. Until I realized that you were speak to the transit cop about me. I pulled out my ear phones and heard you telling the man that I was your granddaughter and that I was holding onto your bus ticket for you!

I challenged you, of course, as I could see where you were going with this scam of yours. You claimed that I was holding onto your bus pass. I denied knowing you and you started throwing a small fit about how you raised me and how you were when I was born. Which was a line of bull. I demanded that you tell the officer my name, you got my first name right (most likely because my first name is on a label on my water bottle, which I drank from during the duration of one stop). However, I also demanded then that you tell the officer my last name as well (which is on my student bus pass). You got it wrong and the officer handed my pass back to me and asked you to go off of the train with him at the last stop.

Do you realize how disgusting it is that you tried to take advantage of the transit system like that? That you were trying to pass off someone as your grandchild? I wonder, really, if you were going to play the senile card when you got off of the train, claim to the officer that you were confused and really thought that I was your granddaughter. I wonder if you were fined or if he decided to let you off with a warning. I mean, it was creeping me out already with you sitting there and staring at me, but claiming that I'm your granddaughter? How low can a person sink? I hope you were fined the maximum amount that they'll fine someone who doesn't a valid transit fare on them. I also hope that I never see you again. Or rather, if I do, I hope I refrain from throwing something at you.

Dear the Woman on the Train,

I saw you on the train when I boarded after my chemistry exam on Wednesday (December 12th). You were already sitting down, and holding yourself with perfect posture. And honestly, I probably wouldn't have noticed a thing about you if you hadn't taken off your hat, ran a hand through your hair and then put your hat back on. At first, I thought it was a trick of light, I thought that I couldn't possibly see what I thought I was seeing.

But... It is kind of hard to hide two black eyes, bruised cheeks and a bruised chin with a hair and your hair. It is also difficult to hide the fact that there are literally two bruises in the shapes of handprints around your neck. Now, I'm sure that if you are reading this, you'd be explaining them away - but it's difficult to do so when I could see the individual fingers in the bruise.

Your cell phone rang and you pressed a button to talk and addressed the person as 'honey' and then started to quickly apologizing, begging the person on the other end to not be angry at you for being late going home as you had no control over the traffic on the roads. You told him that you were already on the train and you wouldn't be more than fifteen minutes to the station. But it seemed that it didn't matter as you suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence and put your phone back into your pocket.

The woman next to you was also paying attention and asked you if you needed help, she had motioned to the bruising on your face and neck. You shook your head and said that it happened when you had fallen down the stairs by accident. Now, with that extent of bruising, it would seem as if you had thrown yourself down the stairs once or twice and then had the railing wrap itself around your neck a few times in order to get to get that kind of bruising.

I hope you get some help and that you leave the SOB that's been beating you up. Maybe you think that you can't get help, but you can go to a local hospital or police station - people will help you. All you need to do is walk out the door.

Dear Begging Man,

It was snowing quite a bit today, at least it was for the area that I live in. You were walking around the outside of the train station as my friend and myself were making our way towards the entrance. You walked by and were shouting "Could you please give me a fucking penny?"

Now, I am not exactly versed in the proper etiquette of begging money off of people (read: pan handling) but I'm pretty sure that you would be much more successful with asking people for money if you were not shouting at them and if you were also more polite and not swearing at the same time.

For example, here are some things that you could say that would make your pan handling days more successful:

1. Could you please spare me some change?
2. If you could give me a penny, that would be much obliged.
3. It would mean the world to me if you were to spare me some change.

It doesn't make that much of an effort to come up with some more positive, more polite sounding ways of asking people for money. Plus, you also do not come off as incredibly rude and loud and frightening.

I hope you found somewhere warm for the night though, it's pretty cold outside.

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 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.

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

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