All those things you christened important are not. The perfect Mr. Right (Now) won’t necessarily be astrologically compatible with you. Nor will he embrace your love of coffee, unless, perhaps, you add a whole lot of milk and pumpkin spice flavoring first. And chance are he will not have a seductive Biblical name like Baruch or Mordechai.
But with time you will begin to realize that your arbitrary single girl hang ups are just that– arbitrary. So what if he shares your astrological sign? You may be an only child, but try your hand at sharing this coincidental overlay. And maybe he isn’t making a b-line for Bowery Coffee or Gimme Coffee or any other neighborhood coffee fueling station in the morning, but guess what? That means more caffeinated goodness for you. And even if his name isn’t the one you imagined yours attached to, it’s a hell of a lot easier to pronounce than Baruch or Mordechai.
In other words, ditch the checklists filled with ridiculously detailed prerequisites. No man will comply with all of them, and in the words of my therapist, “It’s a recipe for disappointment.” Now to many this sounds like obvious advice– don’t set absurd standards. Be reasonable in your expectations and firm in your values. But for a biddie whose made her blogging career out of dispensing otherwise contradictory advice, it isn’t.
Having spent my formative collegiate career indulging in the study of cinema, I developed the rom-com complex. Which is to say the belief that Mr. Right (Now) would save me from getting hit by a car– and even though he would be engaged and I would be his wedding planner– somehow we’d overcome the hurtles and live happily ever after in some back Hollywood lot.
But 23 years and counting, and that still hadn’t happened so I took a chance, gave a guy my number, and added the words, “Call me, maybe” to an oh-so-classy post-it note. And though I thought my life would turn into the infamous music video below, he thus far has not professed his preference for boys.
No, he actually turned out to be entirely heterosexual, and in the super stereotypical throw back a beer and watch the football game sort of way. So instead of planning and plotting and excel spreadsheeting my relationships away, I’m going to try the spontaneous post-it approach. When I meet someone intriguing, I’m going to throw caution to the wind and leave said (wo)man of intrigue my details with a fitting Billboard 100 song lyric.