Friday night I had a perfectly acceptable date. The guy was nice, decently cute, he picked a great, relaxed bar (Rocks, Lincoln Park) and conversation was mostly smooth and fun. Except for that part where he said “oh, I mean, I don’t really read” and was prompted further to tell me that the last book he [tried to] read was actually just too darn long (“I made it to page 250 and saw that there were 200 more and was like No Way!”) Relaying this to my first-to-know ladies, there were a fair number of sour faces and quite a bit of head shaking and I can’t lie, I pretty much felt the same way. All my life I’ve been hopping back and forth over the Picky Fence, never wanting to be “too picky” as to overlook someone just because of a minor detail, but I never wanted to just settle. Nobody ever wants to settle. So the logical thing to do is compromise, right? Right….? Maybe.
Here’s my argument for being picky: This guy was nice. Really, he was sweet. But the books thing? Well, that’s like a loose thread, and once you start to pull on it, you’ll start to unravel the whole dang sweater. Not like non-reading is a gateway drug or anything like that but that it’s a good indicator that somewhere down the road, we’re going to run into more and more differences. I guess it always seemed to me that deal breakers should be the big things (doesn’t want to get married, doesn’t want kids, the usual) but the more I date, the more I’m learning that my list of deal breakers is way more detailed (and way longer) than originally anticipated.
Additionally, I’ve only ever known one other person who proudly admitted: “I don’t read books!” and I hated that kid.