Up until fairly recently, I was dating a guy that used the phrase, “Kick butt!” when he got excited about something. This caused me no end of excruciating pain, mostly because he got excited often. It was nails down a chalkboard for me when he passed that exam, I wanted to scream whenever we would make plans to go out and I kind of wanted to poke him in the eye when he said it after a particularly good bout of bedroom time.

I couldn’t quite understand why this bothered me so much. I mean, yes, I am a writer – word choice is important to me. But it’s not as though he was peppering his speech with double negatives or saying “ain’t” in an un-ironic fashion. I didn’t get my own knee-jerk reaction. And then we had what I call the “khaki debacle.” The conversation went something like this:

Me: (after watching him don yet another pair of khakis and realizing that I hadn’t seen him in jeans during the whole of our two-month relationship) You wear khakis a lot. Do you even OWN a pair of jeans?
The Beav*: Well, yeah. But they have rips in them.
Me: You know, sometimes that’s not such a bad thing.
The Beav: Well, I don’t really want to wear them like that. Guess I have to head to Abercrombie & Fitch pretty soon, huh? And, uh, Lauren? Just so you know, these aren’t khakis.
Me: *blank stare, as I am looking right at them and they are, in fact, khakis*
The Beav: Khaki is a COLOR. These are chinos.
Me: You are such a nerd!

*I’m calling him The Beav because once wore a baseball cap, short-sleeved plaid shirt, khakis and Converse tennis shoes on a date. Guess who he looked like?

It all became crystal clear in that moment. You see, I am a semi-reformed punk. Back in the day, I was tatted up, blue-haired and angrily anti-establishment. I spent far too much time listening to The Misfits and read way too much Bukowski. To this day, I still wear a nose ring and chafe at the days I have to wear an actual suit to a client meeting. So, it wasn’t that he was saying “Kick butt!” that bothered me. It was the fact that he was the kind of person that would use that phrase. And that he was also the kind of person that would not only differentiate between khakis and chinos, but would feel the need to educate me on the difference. He was a wonderful, sweet, smart, successful… uber-preppie. Hello, deal-breaker.

Call me judgemental, I’m not particularly proud of my thought process here. But we all have our deal-breakers. Those “do not pass go, do not collect $200” ideologies, habits or physical attributes that we absolutely will not accept in a mate. For some, that line is religion, smoking or bad teeth. Or an allergy to Snookums, your adorable pit bull. For me, that line is chinos. And it is apparently khaki in color.

This got me to thinking, so I made a list. What are my deal-breakers? Well, I don’t do stupid, nor can I handle mean or prejudiced. I also need someone who loves music and books, can speak in coherent sentences and values independence – both mine and his. I don’t need flowery sentiments, but I do need respect. I have to have a relationship based on trust and I must be with someone who has a strong set of core values. And, as The Beav taught me, I need a little bit of edge in there, to keep things interesting.

That’s my list, and I would recommend that any woman out there in the dating world make one of her own. It’s interesting to see your expectations on paper, in black and white. Keep it broad and keep it brief, so as to avoid the pratfall of expecting the impossible. After all, I will probably never find a black haired, hazel-eyed, 6’5’’ man with a love of business, Nina Simone and ethnic food. The brush is too narrow. But at least with my list of deal-breakers in hand, I can find a man with a value set that closely aligns with mine. And then I’ll get to teach him all about the joys of paella and wearing jeans with rips.