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About two years ago, I was going through a dating crisis of I’m-going-to-die-alone proportions and sought help from a therapist who specialized in that sort of thing. She gave me all these rules I should be following to help me find love. Like, she told me I should date at least three guys at once and tell each of the guys on date number two that I was dating other people. Then, she instructed me to wait for two to three months and decide which one I liked the best and dump the other two. This is not something I ever would have considered doing on my own, but because I was blaming myself for being single, I was willing to try it her way. Following her advice, I cancelled plans with guy #1 — who I really liked — because guy #2 had asked me out for a drink and I felt obligated. I arrived at the “date” with guy #2 only to discover that without even asking me, he had invited 12 of his closest friends to join us. Long story short (because the rest is pretty lame), the night ended with me crying in a cab on the way home from Brooklyn feeling like poop about myself because even following an expert’s rules, I couldn’t date “right.”
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