I like you. I won’t date you. But let’s work together.

I received an email the other day from a man I’d gone on a few dates with. I was really excited about him. Excited for the first time in a while. Excited enough that I told my mom I’d gone on a date.

He emailed me over the weekend to let me know that he’d started dating someone else, but that he still wants to be friends and would love to support me in my work. I thanked him for letting me know.

What else am I supposed to to say? Good luck? Best wishes? Thanks for telling me, I’m so glad that we can be platonic friends now because that’s actually what I was aiming for all along? Because honestly, I wanted to send him a howler, so best wishes or anything  more courteous than I mustered would have been straight up fraudulent.

I was on a roof top in Brooklyn watching the sun set and listening to live jazz and all that I could think about was this man who had taken me on three wonderful dates, who had gone on a trip, who I’d told myself not to text incessantly for fear of scaring him away, and who, in the interim, had started dating someone else.

This is the third time this year that this had happened. The first time, I was told over the phone (directness appreciated), second over text, and now email. Next time, I’ll look out for a skywriter. It’s like I’m the runner up, the girl who helps the guy realize who “the girl for him” really is. I set up the play, but am pulled out of the game at the last minute.

While I have not yet figured out my full role in these burgeoning romances gone foul, I must have a significant one. These types of scenarios don’t run on repeat for no reason. I am not a prop being passed from scene to scene. I am complicit at least and quite possibly a co-lead.

All of this has led to a few too many bags of candy and greasy slices of pizza, some sad calls to friends, and a general disillusionment towards my formerly favorite subject – dating. They (magazines, movies, friends, etc.) say that if you put yourself out there, it’ll work out. Well, I put myself out there and it’s not working out too dandy.

In fact, I am a hairs breadth away from creating a Dating Pippa Exit Survey. It’ll include 3-4 multiple choice questions and a comments section. Collecting data points on my dating life might be crazy but when every guy you like shuts you down, you can’t help but want to ask why.

I can see it now, a spreadsheet filled with reasons that I am not datable. A crowdsourced data set equally as depressing as it would be insightful. But I’m not a product to be critiqued and improved upon. I’m a woman. I am far from perfect, but I know that I have a lot to offer.

If you don’t want to date me that’s perfectly fine, and I appreciate you telling me as soon as possible. But have the courtesy to wait a while before trying to be friends, or worse, offering me work advice. While you’ve got a hot date, I’m waiting on a deliveries from the pizza place down the street and Pinkberry while queuing up old Mindy Project episodes. It’s going to be a long night.