I was recently given a freelance writing assignment that required me to visited dozens of Manhattan locations in search of men — so essentially what I do always except now I had an excuse to admit it and would ultimately get paid.

The kinds of places I visited included typical places where I’ve come across eligible men (bars, hot dog stands, other bars) and more untraditional places (temp agencies, off track betting outposts, The New York Public Library, no – not dry cleaners…never again dry cleaners).

Now I like to consider myself a friendly person. I don’t generally hesitate to talk to strangers or keep up conversation if conversation is prompted. But I can go shy-ish when blatant, sober flirting is involved.

In the case of my research, though, I found myself wildly emboldened. I had this nice, packaged excuse to hide behind complete with a simple intro (Hi, I’m working on this article about what kind of men would come to an off track betting outpost…), natural info gathering device (so could I just get your name and number in case I have any follow up questions?), and easy out if things went south (Great. Well I think I’ve got all I need to work with. Thanks for your help.)

Yes, the article was very conveniently about meeting men, but it could just as easily been about anything and I would have had to ask just as many questions of just as many strangers, of which I would obviously choose men.

This isn’t me advising you to become a freelance writer because it’s a great excuse to meet guys. Or me saying, just fake being a freelance writer because it’s a great excuse to meet guys and you can worry about the truth if they end up being great.

I’m saying you need a journalist-style cop out.

The only difference between the Me writing an article and the Me asking an attractive man a random question was my “cover.” I got to say, “So do you come to this bar a lot?…..because I’m writing an article and that’s why I need to know. It’s not because I just think you’re cute and want to talk to you.”

The article-writing makes me booby* — as in the female equivalent of ballsy – not as in possessing of large breasts — not at all, sadly. (please note: the noun equivalent does not exist in this circumstance. So “Dammnn, that girl’s got BOOBS!” cannot, for obvious reasons, be used when she does something bold.)

It’s my cop out. I can be sure he’s interested in answering my question because I am working on something and need his help, not because he might like me. And he’s left to wonder if I’m asking because I think he’s cute or because I need one more quote for my piece. Advantage: me.

In this forthcoming article – the one I got to hit up six happy hours in two days for (thanks Liz and Katie!) – I will advise women to travel to a series of random locations where I successfully located mass amounts of men. What’s implied is that once they get there – really once any of us get anywhere – we’ve got to muster up a cop out.

We’ve got to come up with some reasonable question or prompt just as if we were a journalist who had to ask on account of a very important assignment:

• “So is this the best bar in this neighborhood because I’m new to the area.”
• Or “what was that weird beer you just ordered? I want to pick up a six pack of something different for a friend who loves beer.”

Logical question – very reasonable rationale (read: cop out), which I’ve underlined in case this still isn’t clear.
This sounds like I’m saying – “come up with reasonable lies so you can talk to people with greater confidence.”
That is what I’m saying.

If that poses a real moral dilemma for you then you can continue perfecting your sexy eye until your dry cleaner sets you up with someone.

*thank you Gallotta