"I mean, I don't blame them, but it's not like I had a choice," I continued thinking to myself while mindlessly nodding along to what my fifth date was saying. Once everyone had registered, our organizer separated us into our respective groups. Whereas I tried to look as though I had just gotten off my fancy job as a writer, a majority of the men looked as though they had just left their shift at Aeropostale. Why were they dressed like that dude from high school who always tries to sell you knives when you run into him every trip back home?
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