Submitted by Allison, Age 23, New York, NY

My first date with “Fred” wasn’t amazing, but it was good enough to warrant a second, and the second was just good enough to warrant a third. I’m pretty picky about guys, and, because I’m aware of how picky I am, I’ll sometimes overcompensate and give a guy a chance even when I secretly know he’s not right. This was the case with Fred. I knew it wasn’t going anywhere, which is sort of why I didn’t put up a huge fight when he insisted on paying for the fancy dinner we ate on date #3.

Throughout dinner, I went back and forth on whether I was going to let Fred get physical with me later. I knew he wanted to pretty badly, and although I knew this couldn’t go much further, he was real pretty, and … did I mention I’m indecisive?

Okay, so he walks me back to my place, and by this point, I’m starting to get tired of his personality and I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t hook up with him. I make my goodbye at the front door kind of hasty, and seeing his chances fly away he makes one last ditch effort: “Do you mind if I use your bathroom quickly?”

Okay. Fine. He gets the invite upstairs. But once he’s done, I pull the “I hate to kick you out but I have to get up real early tomorrow” line, and he’s clearly frustrated. “Oh, man,” he says, “So you’re really kicking me out …” I apologize, but stand firm. He makes no effort to disguise that he’s stewing in his boots now, and he stutters, searching for the right words. Finally he says: “Man! Do you REALIZE how much I spent on dinner?”

I couldn’t believe it. He was trying to make me feel guilty for not hooking up with him, and he actually thought this strategy might change my mind somehow and get me all hot for him. “Um, you can leave now.”

He slammed the door on his way out.

Hey, call me picky, but my instincts are good.

Submitted by Lady of the Lake, Age 20, Ann Arbor, MI

I discovered that my boyfriend had been cheating on me – and he’d done it with two different girls (he’d had sex with one and made out with the other). When I found out, we had a huge fight, and I told him to get out of my apartment and never come back. I was devastated and couldn’t believe I’d been such a sucker.

A couple days later, he calls me and asks when he can come by to pick up his things. I say Tuesday evening. Tuesday comes, and he shows up in this really nice shirt with flowers in his hands. I ask, What’s with the flowers? He says they’re to say he’s sorry. He says he knows we’re broken up and he’s fine with that, but he just wants to apologize. Whatever. He asks for a drink. I refuse. “Just get your shit and go,” I say. But he’s taking his sweet time. Finally, he comes right out and says what’s on his mind.

“You know,” he says, “it’s a shame we never got to have breakup sex.” He pauses and gives me a smile. “Of course, we still could …”

That’s when I spilled my cranberry juice on his stupid fancy shirt.