Dear Mr. Purple Shirt,
I have no idea who you are. There, I said it. The truth is, when you called my name yesterday as I was walking along minding my own business, I turned to you fully expecting to see someone I know. But I didn’t recognize you. Not your voice, not your shirt, not even your very interesting, definitely memorable face. Nope. You didn’t ring any bells. So while we were walking along together with you talking on and on, obviously oblivious (hey that kinda rhymes) to my dilemma, I was trying my best to pick up clues about your identity from the things you were saying. Unfortunately I remained as clueless as before.
Apparently, Mr. Purple Shirt, you and I are good friends, since you felt comfortable enough to tell me about your recent breakup. (I am sorry about that, by the way, even though I didn’t recognize your ex-girlfriend’s name at all.) So since we’re that close, you probably know that I can be a little weird sometimes. Perhaps you’re even used to it, since all my good friends have to be, or they’d go crazy. And since you seemed so nice, you probably will forgive me for not remembering who you are. So if you happen to read this letter, Mr. Purple Shirt, I would really appreciate it if you would contact me and tell me your name. I promise I will never forget it again.
I do hope we’re still friends, Mr. Purple Shirt. That is, if we really are friends. I would hate to think you’re a stalker, you know, or somebody a lot weirder than me.
The (Clueless) Girl in Pink