Dear Boy I Keep Making Out With At The Frick...

I don't know what it is about the oversized paintings of stern-looking men and blushing Marie Antoinette wannabes, or the dusty antique couches that we're not allowed to sit on, but it seems we've both reached the same conclusion about The Frick Collection: it's sexy and it makes us want to grab the closest person in sight and make out with them. 

And so we have, whenever we run into each other amid the heavy columns and gurgling fountain of the museum we apparently love to party in so much. Then again, it might just be all the free champagne, but I maintain that ART is POWERFUL and it can make us do crazy things.

Listen dude, it's been fun every time. I love to make out! And while, up to this point, I've been perfectly content with not having your contact information, this time it's different. I need your phone number.

Calm down. I don't want to get married, or like, even go out to dinner. Although, judging by how much you pay to support such a beloved institution, I'm sure you'd take me somewhere nice. But that's not the point.

Please, please give me your phone number, just so I can finally get a hold of those amazing photos you took of me and Instagram them. The next Frick party isn't until the fall and by then they will be woefully irrelevant. PLEASE. And thank you... for the pictures. And the making out.