It has come to my attention that if I want to find a boyfriend I need to move to the suburbs. Why, you ask, when I live among a city population of eight million? Let me explain.

Recently I was surprised to learn of two friends who had met their beaus the old-fashioned way: in person. What makes their stories even more remarkable is that they both met their boyfriends while riding the train, specifically the Long Island Railroad and New Jersey Transit.

Their experiences reminded me of Cliff Bond's essay which I'd published on The Subway Chronicles website last year about his chance encounter with the woman who would become his wife. He noticed her sitting on a bench waiting for the uptown 1 train, sucked it up, and mesmerized her with dazzling small talk. This seems to be such a rare phenomenon these days, I chalked up his experience to random luck or fate or (insert your choice of cosmic who-ha) and forgot about it.

I'm sure plenty of people have first spied their significant other across a crowded subway car, but, and this is key, you have one shot to work up the gumption to introduce yourself. The father of your children could easily get off at the next stop while you're still figuring out if you would sound like a total loser to say, by way of intro, "Is this an express train?" (Of course the answers are, yes, it is an express train, and yes, you do sound like a loser.)

There is less pressure on the suburban commuter trains. Since these trains run on a specific schedule, most people catch the same train every rush hour, so you end up commuting with the same group day in and day out. We all know "subway schedule" is considered the definition of oxymoron, though I will say that through some strange force, I'll occasionally find myself seeing a very cute guy four days in a row. The entire time, I'm thinking, How can I break the ice? I know. I'll ask him if this is an express train. Then, as if in a payback for my waffling, I don't see him again for three months, after which time he's wearing a wedding ring.

So, for all of you who aced the analytical portion of the GRE:

If a NJ Transit train leaves Secaucus at 8:27 a.m., traveling at 20 miles per hour, and I am on a 2 train leaving Grand Army Plaza at 8:31 a.m., and the cosine of the hypotenuse equals the square of the moon in the seventh house only when the year of the rat is divided by the sound of a tree falling in the forest with no one there to hear it, when will I intersect with the man of my dreams?

A. The day trying to get from the West Village to Alphabet City doesn't involve three train transfers, a pedi-cab, a surly car service driver, and hiking boots.
B. When you stop looking. That's when you'll find him. (Thanks, Mom.)
C. When someone can actually understand the conductor's announcements.
D. When a woodchuck could chuck wood.

(You didn't think I would leave you high-and-dry without an array of multiple choice options, did you?)

Jacquelin Cangro