It’s Wednesday night and I’m dying to get home after a long day at work, traffic and wrapping up a huge project at the office. Eric sends me a text and asks me to stop for a few things at the store so he can make dinner. I oblige figuring if I stop at Trader Joes I can overindulge on their pumpkin products (butter, oatmeal, soup, ravioli).

Pumpkin Heaven
Pumpkin Heaven

I’m making my way into the store when this guy bounds up to me. He had to be 23 or 24. He proceeds to tell me how beautiful I am (laughable sir, I am pretty sure there is still a cereal puff stuck on me somewhere), and how he just moved to LA.

I’ve always though that I wasn’t cool enough to be single and this proved it. I was so dumbstruck I didn’t even say anything. He passes me his number, on a playing card none-the-less. (He tells me he’s a magician.) And heads on his way. My first thought was that he made me a mark for some kind of pickpocket. So, I quickly scurry off to grab my pumpkin cookies and head home.


Only later did I realize that this was the most ingenious marketing ploy of all time. Find tired-looking mom, humble her with hallow flattery, pass her your number. Boom, first birthday party booked. Well played young sir, well played.