The idea of having a “summer of love” always seemed a little impractical to me. When it’s hot… The idea of having a “summer of love” always seemed a little impractical to me. When it’s hot and sticky outside, who really wants to be holding someone’s sweaty hand or cuddling up to another warm body?

But despite these obvious hindrances, our culture has long propagated the notion that summer is an ideal time for romance. And I’ve bought into the idea. The extra daylight and relaxed vibe should afford one ample opportunity to search for a dreamy mate.

In the beginning of May, I felt very optimistic. This was the first summer that I stayed in Pittsburgh. I had a couple of great part-time jobs. Most of my friends were here. There were no tests to study for, no papers to write.

And I not-so-secretly hoped that in my newfound spare time, I would succumb to the spell of summer romance and seek (or be sought by) some of the lovely single men that I presumed were lurking in various hidden pockets and corners of the city.

The summer started on what I thought was the beginning of a lucky streak. I had been back in Pittsburgh for only a few days when I met a charming medical student while waiting for Bellefield