You fixed the plumbing on my dishwasher. You were 60, bald, and slight for a man, even in your oversized plumber’s overalls. At first, you seemed nervous and apologetic about being in my space and interrupting my morning. But later, before you left, you started asking personal questions about my work, my home, and my life. Then, you said, “It might be unprofessional, but are you seeing anyone?” I am 35, female, and single, but I did tell you was seeing someone. What else could I say? Maybe I should have asked you, in the age of #MeToo, how could you? My life is not a porn. In this version of events—reality—I don’t answer the door in my towel and tell you I need some pipe laid in the bedroom. I definitely I don’t want a strange man who’s just spent an hour in my home, alone with me, under supposedly professional circumstances, to ask about my dating life. If you ever consider trying this again, one word: Don’t.—Anonymous