Dear Dog Walker Who Was Walking Literally 500 Dogs by Sterling,
When I was younger, my mother used to read me a book about a dog named Spotty. Spotty was this cute Dalmatian who, through his dog walker’s love, grows to be 20 feet tall and saves a small child from a burning building.
Ever since I was read this book 12,000 times, I have wanted to interact with dogs, specifically in the form of supervising them while they walk. I have been alive for 18 years (and counting) and never has anyone on this planet asked me to walk their dog. Not. Once. (Which is so bizarre — I have been able to walk for almost 10 years!)
So when I saw you, a Dog Walker Who Was Walking Literally 500 Dogs by Sterling, I was incensed. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins. Rage was making my head pound.
How could one person be so selfish as to walk 500 dogs? Leave some dogs for the rest of us! Do you know how many people in this city would like to walk a dog? Many, many people, probably!
You looked so happy. Sunshine was radiating out of your being. I can’t believe one person would be heartless enough to hog literally 500 dogs. I am so mad. This would never happen if Bernie Sanders were president.
Please feel free to email me with tips on how to become such a successful dog walker.
— A. Enkhtamir
P.S. You really did look so happy. Honestly, looking at you made me kind of happy. Hope you and your 500 dogs have a good day.
Dear Unidentified Insanely Attractive Male,
You were walking down Broadway wearing a light blue button-down and mint green shorts. (Spearmint has always been my favorite flavor.) Your luscious dark brown locks were covered with a “Yale Grandpa” baseball cap. This, in addition to your navy Jansport backpack (and bodacious butt) led me to believe initially that you were my good friend Robert Proner ’19.
Since I thought you were my good friend Robert Proner, I ran up behind you and slipped my hand into yours. (Your hand was kind of calloused and dry, like you had been doing just the right amount of pullups. I loved it. Your arms also looked like you had been doing just the right amount of pullups. I enjoyed that as well.)
Unfortunately, you were not my good friend Robert Proner. Which is why me, a total stranger, forcing you to hold my hand might have been weird or awkward or kind of insane. I do not want you to think that I’m weird or awkward or kind of insane. That is one of the three reasons I am writing you this letter.
First, let me apologize for making you hold a stranger’s hand.
Second, let me apologize for not letting you take your hand away for a block and a half. Your crystal blue eyes (bordered with beautiful eyelashes that must have been longer than a couple of inches) sort of just paralyzed me like the basilisk in that one Harry Potter book. (Please make a mental note that you understood my reference. That is already one thing we have in common, Unidentified Intensely Attractive Male! We already have the basis for a long and lasting friendship.)
Third, allow me to dispel all suspicions that I am weird and awkward. I am not weird and awkward. On the contrary, I am unique and quirky. Another friend of mine, Nadrina Ebrahimi ’19, once told me I was the ninth-funnest person she knows. When prompted for a comment, Eleanor Pritchett ’19 gave me three out of five stars! My freshman counselor, Warner Overhauser ’16, once told me I was “kind of okay”!
For a full list of character references, please feel free to email me.
Your Potential Friend,
P.S. I guess I just want you to know that accidentally holding your hand was thrilling but also the most cringeworthy experience I’ve had at Yale so far, and I have had a lot of embarrassing experiences. I would not want to do it again. I’m sorry I wrote 500 words about holding your hand and also that I held your hand.