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an Androgynous Men Period). Most enduring was personal favorite Douglas Sills, star of Broadway’s The Scarlet Pimpernel , whom I stalked outside the Minskoff Theater stage door on many occasions, aided and abetted by my musical theater-loving father.
    As you’ll note in the information pamphlet, through each torrid, make-believe affair, I mastered the art of projecting wonderful qualities onto men who did nothing at all to deserve it—which is pretty harmless in fantasy.
    In real life, it can get dicey.
    Wrapping around to the High School Collection, you’ll see that my foray into the dating world proved less than ideal. Take a moment to examine the following busts: the Devout Jewish Kid Who Swore Off Shiksas After Me, the Possibly Bisexual Buddhist Whose Catch Phrase Was “Bros Before Hos,” the Aspiring White Rapper Who Made Me His Secret Girlfriend, and, around the corner, a sculpture series I like to call the Four Gays. (As the information pamphlet confirms, yes, I did have four gay boyfriends.)
    Finishing our tour, I invite you to the College Wing of the Museum, where I present another sculpture series known as the Three Matts, which represent the time in college when I dated three men named Matt consecutively. First we have Matt 1.0, who has earned a figurine, as opposed to a commemorative bust, since ours was a brief fling. He orchestrated my very first college hookup, a make-out session that began while we were studying Italian verbs.
    (“I’m not going to tell you the correct past participle,” Matt 1.0 said, “unless you kiss me.”)
    Next you’ll see a bust of Matt 2.0, the small bespectacled individual I dated on and off for two years. (You might remember him from our first scene, seeing Wicked on Broadway with my family.) As the pamphlet describes, our time together was pretty bizarre. On our first Valentine’s Day Matt 2.0 took three drunk photos of me, made posters of them, and labeled them Paradiso , Purgatorio , and Inferno . Instead of going on dates we played Subjective Guess Who, a board game we invented that was exactly like Guess Who except you asked questions like, “Is your person a Democrat?” or, “Does your person recycle?”  Appealing to each other’s totally weird sides was fun for a while, but not sustainable. In our case, I cut things off with Matt 2.0 just in time for Matt 3.0.
    You’ll find him all the way across the room.
    As the ex-boyfriend responsible for my greatest heartbreak, Matt 3.0 has earned not a bust but a mini mausoleum, engraved with year and title (Breaker of Fel’s Heart, 2006-2009). We dated through my junior and senior years then tentatively broke up, got back together, broke up, and got back together while he spent a year abroad in Paris.
    Together we were destroying each other in the service of making things work. Because, you see, I had thought Matt 3.0 to be The One. You know, the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life, have babies, yada yada, blah blah.
    (And as you’ll note, the Museum room reserved for The One remains conspicuously empty.)
    Why was I so foolish? Maybe it had something to do with end-of-college timing, or the fact that Matt 3.0 spun a fine “I love you forever and ever” yarn, or the fact that, in my Early Years, I’d been great at fabricating relationships.
    But 56 tear-filled phone calls, 27 pints of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie, four and a half years, and three long, drawn-out breakups after I met Matt 3.0, I had a bracing reality check.
    LL101: Love hurts .
    I’d endured disappointments, rejections, and resentments, but I’d never really been hurt. No, not in a lasting way. Stunned into solitude, I vowed never to let it happen again.
    So, given this tour of my dating history, I hope you can understand why I was reluctant to fall for this Marshall Roy character. This too-good-to-be-true, cookie-wielding hunk of a man.
    But here I was, on a street corner in Manhattan, munching oatmeal and raisins,