SWF seeking SMw/RSCoD

When I moved to New York, I found myself rather anxious to meet some new guys (as opposed to the "old guys" who I just cycle through one after another like a TV with just four channels). Not really sure where I was going to meet them, I learned quickly that one strong possibility lay at the park.

The park, you see, is not only a grassy escape for me, but also contains two dog runs: one for dogs under 25 lbs (eh), and one for other (real) dogs. This causes the park population to explode with dogs and their owners, many of which are Hot Young Men. However, because I myself do not have a dog, I must be very careful at dealing with the Hot Young Men so as not to appear as the crazy lady who comes to the park to play with other people's dogs.

So I decided there must be a second tactical element. I spent many hours studying the Hot Young Men to see what trends and patterns could be detected and therefore used as icebreaking material. One such trend: baseball caps. More specifically, Yankees and Red Sox. I figured, my Red Sox cap(s) would suffice in any manner because one of the following situations would result:

1. A Red Sox fan would see my Red Sox hat and believe I was a comrade in enemy territory, and conversation would ensue.
   
2. A Yankees fan would see my Red Sox hat and believe I deserve to be heckled and tortured, and conversation would ensue.

Either way, I come off as a cool chick who watches baseball, which would act as the initial icebreaker that led me to talking about the dog, which was the proverbial foot in the door for a long-term relationship. This, however, did not work out as planned. No amount of Red Sox paraphenilia and dainty girlish smiling got me anywhere except for re-enforcing that the Red Sox were cursing my life.

Then the other day I accidentally stumbled onto the key, the answer to all my problems. On my way into the park, sans Red Sox hat, I stopped to get a giant soft pretzel with salt and mustard. ($1.50, can't beat it.) I slowly strolled around the front of the park and made my way towards the big dog run. When I was about 30 feet away, an enormous black lab with one of those surgical plastic cones around its head charged the fence, crashing into it and barking at me.

At first I was a little scared. Why had this giant beast singled me out? Was he going to jump the fence that barely contained him? Why was he barking at me? Soon a woman's voice yelled "Don't worry, he's friendly." Being a lover of giant black labs, I went over and pet the dog through the fence. Despite his conical headpiece, he jumped up and stuck a paw over the top of the fence. "Watch your dinner," the lady told me.

Soon a second black lab came barrelling behind. This dog too jumped up on the fence in an attempt to swipe my pretzel and/or just get a teeeeeny taste of the mustard. "I've replaced more meals," the woman said to me. "They steal egg sandwiches and pizza slices and baby crackers ALL the time. I always carry cash to pay for it." I sympathized, recalling the time when Bailey ate the better half of my father's unattended sirloin in one excited chomp.

(Bailey)

I bid farewell to the pooches, and found a secluded spot in the grass where I could watch the boats and gunmen armed with automatic weaponry go by. I laid out my blanket, and leafed through a magazine while nibbling on my pretzel with salt and mustard (all the while keeping one eye on the god damned pigeons who had started circling me in hopes for handout but would likely peck out my eyeballs when enough of them had gathered to outnumber me). As I was putting the last bite into my mouth, the swarm of pigeons suddenly took flight, and I assumed that a bomb must have detonated in the tri-state area because I've never seen anything chase away pigeons.

The "bomb" turned out to be a small, unleashed wiener dog with floppy brown ears that was galloping right towards me. Or, more accurately, towards my napkin full of salt and mustard. I didn't want the poor little guy, wherever he came from, to get sick, so I instinctively reached to pick him up. But a strong, masculine hand beat me to it.

"Jonah, stop!" said a booming voice. I looked up to see a very, very, VERY hot guy behind me, scooping up the dog. "I'm SO sorry," he said. "Did he get a bite?"

"No," I smiled, forcing the half-chewed lump of pretzel into one cheek and hoping I didn't have mustard smeared across my face while meeting my future husband for the first time.

"Are you sure?" he asked, clipping the leash back onto the dog's collar. I stared dreamily at the tall, tan, blonde-haired, blue-eyed god before me. I started to answer but--

"I'm SO sorry," came another voice. Perplexed, I looked over my shoulder to see what appeared to be my husband's boyfriend, who I was also meeting for the first time. "Bad boy, Jonah."

"Sorry about that," they said sympathetically. I nodded, assured them it was fine and that he was a cute dog.

When they left me, they helped each other climb over the fence while the other one held the dog. I watched as they strolled over to a patch of giant sunflowers and examined the intricate formation of the seeds. I watched my beautiful gay husband leave me forever.

So I was close. The pretzel lured dogs and hot male owners fantastically. I just need to learn how to lure the right ones. Hold the mustard, perhaps?