Deal Breakers

I'm stealing an idea from Dooce's site. Well, okay, not really stealing. Because she got the idea from Maggie aka Mighty Girl's new book, "No One Cares What You Had for Lunch:100 Ideas For Your Blog". (Not to imply I'm on a blog-name basis with either of these bright and witty women). Back to the point, Dooce asked on her site what the deal breakers were when it comes to dating men.

I'll have to add the caveat that I ended up, many moons ago, married to my "high school sweetheart". And I met my current boyfriend, whom I've been with for seven years now, just a few months after that first relationship crashed and burned in a surreal, Jerry Springer fashion. So the number of men I've slept with, if counted on one hand, would leave me with fingers - plural - left over. But after I left my hard core, absolutely-serious I-really-mean it deal breakers over at Dooce's site (no abusers, no felons, no animal-haters, etc), I realized that there are probably a few dozen more personal "oh no he didn't" deal breakers. Obviously I haven't had the opportunity to test market every single item on my list, so some of them were market tested and passed on to me by friends and relatives.

I would like to point out that this list is made with the full knowledge that all of the not-counted-on-one-hand men of the world out there could quite honestly point out, "we weren't asking you out!" Duly noted.

Since someone did recently die and make me Queen, I feel free to compile my list anyway. Note: none of these items below have ever applied to the current boyfriend. Laughing Boy is actually freak-of-nature perfect, in each and every way. And he doesn't read this blog, so I don't even have to say that.

Anyway, without any further codacils and subsections...

I won't go out with you if you:

- are more than or equal to two decades older or younger than I am

- expect your wife to get up before you at 3:30 am just to iron your underwear so it's warm when you put it on. One of the ex-husband's coworker's wives did this. No lie. This ain't Alaska, buddy. Cold boxers aren't gonna kill you. And if you want toasty privates, you know where the dryer is.

- wear birkenstocks with any socks.

- wear any sandals with black socks.

- wear any clogs with white socks in public.

- wear a toupee. Bald, yes of course. Toupeed up? Nope, never.

- feel you have a right to dictate when, how and where I depilate. You take care of your hair, I'll take care of mine. And no, now that you mention it, your toupee is so very obviously NOT your hair. No matter how much you paid for it.

- do not have a mouth full of teeth or teeth-like-substitutes. They don't have to all be yours. But they do have to be present and accounted for.

- have breath worse than my Shi Tzu.

- dislike dogs

- dislike cats

- dislike me, but pretend you're just "correcting me" for my own good.

- somehow manage to loudly crunch breakfast cereal while simultaneously suctioning the milk through your molars at high speed, creating a sloshing slurping sucking noise that can be heard two rooms away. Come on buddy, mornings are bad enough!

- work 60+ hours a week at your job, but pitch an actual bona fide hissy fit because I'm still at work when you want to go out some night. And then proceed to lecture me on what's wrong with my work schedule, job, career, and financial situation. Um, not that that's ever happened to me or anyone I know. Just in case you were wondering. You know.

- expect me to "manage" your card sending and gift giving obligations. They're your family. And you've had forty plus years to notice your Mom's birthday is in August. The correct answer is "August". You know them, you can pick out a sweater/scarf/tie/wallet/watch they'd actually like in two minutes. I'll spend two hours agonizing, and I guarantee you they'll still stare at it with something akin to horror. At which point you'll loudly insist that you wanted to get them the sweater/scarf/tie/wallet/watch they would have preferred, but I had insisted on "this... what exactly is it, honey?" instead. And then you spend the hour and a half drive home telling me exactly why that one gift, right there, was exactly the wrong thing to get Aunt Adelaide because of her freakish intaglio phobia. Unless I accidentally manage to pick out, purchase and painstakingly gift wrap something they love, at which point you march out this song and dance about how you spent all weekend looking and finally found it in that perfect little shop outside blah blah blah. Only I put the gift receipt in the box, the gift receipt that clearly does NOT say cute little shop outside blah blah blah. Um, not that that's ever happened to me or anyone I know. Just in case you were wondering. You know.

- play with your "junk" - over or under your pants - in public. I used to work with a guy who did this both ways CONSTANTLY. And not hand-in-his-pocket a little adjustment subtly. Hand down the front of his shorts, moving so much you'd have thought he was making a french braid. During lunch. I'm still shuddering. Thank god I'm nearsighted. And never had to shake his hand.

- make racist jokes, and then when I'm offended explain that you didn't MEAN it, so they weren't really racist jokes and I can't be offended because I'm not (insert ethnic group here). I'm pretty sure that the only qualification you'd need to be offended by that joke is "ears".

- consider each and every conversation a debate that MUST BE WON. By you. Especially, and most gleefully, when you're wrong.

- treat waitstaff like servants.

- are cheap. I can understand not having much money, honestly. That describes my bank balance perfectly, so I understand it all too well. And in my brief dating experience, I still always offered to pay half, or picked up the check every other time. But if you don't even have enough money to cover the valet parking, the time to mention it is before we finish dessert at the restaurant that you picked, invited me to, and drove to. The restaurant where you proceeded to order appetizers, salad, the lobster special, two bottles of wine, dessert and a glass of port. And only then announced that you forgot your wallet. Oh, and would I take a check. A postdated check, because you don't get paid until next week. Not that this has ever... oh, never mind. And yes, the postdated check bounced. Twice.

- own a hand gun.

- giggle like a 14 year old girl, with your curled fists pressed up against your face. Seriously. Also still shuddering.

- use chewing tobacco.

- wake me up by slapping me on the butt and hollering, "Come on hunny, it's 6:30! Get that FATTTTT ass outta bed already! I'm starving!" Now that little paragraph, right there, is wrong on so many levels, I'm just going to put it down and back away.