Dear Sunday School Setup,

Your mother, bless her heart, was my Sunday School teacher while I was in law school.  You were 30. I was 22.  She still thought we'd be a good match.

You lived at home with her, while I lived alone. She still thought we'd be a good match.

You dropped out of college and worked in a local bar. Read: townie.  I was in a top tier law school.  She still thought we'd be a good match.

I wear pearls and sundresses.  You wear all black. She still thought we'd be a good match.

I had just stopped seeing Mudcat.  You were probably his weight, but a full foot shorter than he was.  She still thought we'd be a good match.

I politely declined her repeated requests for us to meet.  Low and behold, the last day of finals my 1L year came around.  We pregamed at a friend's house and then headed to the two bars Williamsburg had.  There was a crazy wait outside of the one we wanted to go to. So two friends and I went to the other bar to have some drinks while we waited for the line to die down.

We proceeded to have several shots.  I proceeded to tell them about how my Sunday School teacher was trying to set me up with a complete loser and how it would never happen. Etc.  Not my finest moment, I know.

Flash forward to church on Sunday.  You showed up at church with your mom. She introduced us.  I realized that you were the bartender the night I was telling my friends about you.  I'm sure you heard every word.

Sorry. Or Sorry for Partying. Either way, we wouldn't be a good match.

-W