Manic Pixie Dream Girl Seeks Handsome Male Undergoing Quarter-Life Crisis

A Singles Ad by April Quisenberry



Hey all, April here. As I’m sure you all know, I’m pretty quirky. I’m simply bubbling with enthusiasm for all things spontaneous and vivacious. Somehow, God also managed to make me strikingly gorgeous, as if my bafflingly unique personality weren’t already enough. But let’s face it: none of these admittedly adorkable attributes can ever serve to give me a purpose in life. What I really need is my male protagonist, preferably an architecture or English major, a nihilistic, brooding soul with dark chestnut locks that obscure his dejected eyes. In return for making my existence worthwhile, I will gladly impart my wisdom on living and loving without reservation. I’ll teach said guy about the joys of exotic hair dye, petty theft, chaotic near-death but inevitably inspirational adventures, deadpan irreverent sarcasm, and boundless hipster trends.

It occurred to me that I might be in need of a guy to mesmerize with my doe-eyed idiosyncrasies when I woke up with a strange empty feeling yesterday morning. Realizing I had no immediate family or career prospects, I figured I better attach myself to some up-and-coming cause. You know how kids these days are joining all sorts of liberal sub-culture movements and wearing screen-printed Obama tees?  That’s exactly what I had to find. Only something more substantial and life-affirming, like a boy.

You may be asking, how am I supposed to make a commitment to this complete and utter stranger? What if we aren’t compatible? Well, I’m glad you asked. This is a good time to tell you that I actually have no flaws, unless you count excessive lip-biting or an inexplicable resemblance to glittery sprites, so expect to fall head-over-heels in love within four to six hours of aimless frolicking.

If any of this catches your attention, just come and find me at the local record store on State St. I’ll be there in lieu of attending my modern art classes, browsing the Neutral Milk Hotel vinyl in my floral-print sundress and Oxfords, patiently awaiting our encounter behind a mysterious fringe of bangs.

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