Dear Sally, At a dimly-lit tapas bar in Madrid I met the most beautiful woman. She was alone, her luscious lips slick with gloss, and she wore a silky red dress caressing her voluptuous thighs. Our eyes met. We talked. We swapped mobile phone numbers. I lost hers. Now I’m back in Stockholm and feeling gutted because I’ve missed an opportunity that might have changed both our lives. Sven T.
What a deliciously promising evening it was. Do bear in mind that with a name like Sven it is unlikely the relationship would have progressed beyond smouldering looks at 20 paces. Also, you lost her phone number, but she hasn’t lost yours, presumably, unless it is a case of mysterious coincidences. But she hasn’t called you, has she? I thought not. Unfortunately you will have to face facts. You’re a loser.
Graciously yours, Sally.
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