To the younger guy from Virginia who hit on me during Pitchfork:

You were somewhat drunk, somewhat being egged on by your friends, but I thank you. It has been a while (never) since I was hit on in a chatty, enthusiastic way by someone that I would never think would be interested in even talking to me. Even though you talked during most of the New Pornographers set, and it took me a few songs to realize that you were going to be persistent and wide-eyed in getting me to talk to you, I thank you. My boyfriend was being inattentive and wouldn’t get out of his lawn chair when the band came on, and I left in a huff to get up to the stage. I was feeling more than a little dismissed and unattractive (those always go hand-in-hand), and your insistence on telling me every detail of your post-college trip to Australia and your plans to pitch your office job to live the indie life that you were loving here in Chicago made me remember that there are other boys, for better and for worse, and many more conversations that someone will want to have with me. While I knew that it wouldn’t be you, and I made a lame excuse to get back to my lawn chair- bound group as the set ended, I thank you. You made a divorced, mid-30’s lady feel reasonably interesting in a field of young hipsters and oblivious boyfriends. Thanks.