“Rules for one” is a bimonthly lifestyles column that investigates how to be successfully single.
On paper he was perfect. That should have been my first clue. He was going to school to be a dentist. This meant money and good hours to spend time with your future family and loving wife. He was tall with dark hair. Two superficial things I really do enjoy in a man. And he was a musician on the side. There is nothing better than a guitar-accompanied lullaby. I was set to say I do to the Post-it version. I was unprepared for the real thing.
It was a blind date. I had seen zero pictures but had heard nothing but rave reviews. I ignored all the warning signs that were flying right by my blissfully ignorant face, like “STOP, TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE APPROACHING.” We met for dinner, and he exceeded all of my visual expectations. After sitting down at a private back table, I was ready to order an amazing cocktail from the elaborate drink menu, when I heard a “no, thank you” from across the table. I felt an ounce of panic course through my nervous system as the waiter looked my way and I politely said, “just a sparkling water, please.”
I had to face the sober elephant in the room immediately. I asked about the drink refusal in a polite and genuinely curious manner. “I’m a Mormon,” was the reply I received. All of the things I had heard regarding Mormons started surging through my brain: No alcohol, possible bigamy, no sex before marriage, thousands of children. I wished he would have said, “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
I have nothing against any type of religion but when it comes to certain views and practices, it’s like oil and water: we just don’t mix. I believe in the consumption of alcohol. I enjoy a toast of champagne, a glass of wine at the end of a long day, a beer on St. Patty’s. There are certain rituals in my life that just need a bit of booze, and this booze needs to be shared. Although, on second thought, I guess it would be kind of nice to have a constant designated driver by my side.
Even more importantly, and for lack of better words, I like to try on that pair of jeans before I buy them. I’m with Dr. Ruth on this one. Sex needs to be had – before the alter. Plus, relationships are stressful enough, can you imagine the tension between two sober, under-satisfied people?
When it comes to certain things, opposites really don’t attract, no matter what those mathematicians say. We are not magnets. I could have dealt with anti-death penalty views or pro-life. I could have accepted a Republican. I could have been completely cool with someone who believed that Nutella was less than peanut butter in yummy factors. Or that cats are better than dogs. These are the wonderful things that make for great debates. A good challenge of views can be fun.
But this budding romance wasn’t about Bush or Obama. It had nothing to do with coffee or tea. There were topics at hand that I could not turn a blind eye too. I could not change this man. He was a Bible-toting son-of-a-gun, and this carpetbagger couldn’t do a thing about it. As he began to talk about politics and the stock market – all the topics that get lost somewhere between ear and brain – I nodded and said the appropriate “yeahs,” “uh-huhs” and “oh nos.”
When the inappropriate first date topic of Jesus came up, I excused myself to the bathroom and hightailed it to the bar. I asked the bartender for a large favor and an even larger glass of vodka on the rocks. He put it in a water glass and gave me a sympathetic smile. I went back to my seat and sucked happily from my straw as I tried to veer the conversation down a different road until we ended the night with a handshake.
I may not entirely know what I want from a partner, but after that night I have a few more things on my list of needs. Like a man who can hold his liquor better than I can, and a healthy premarital sexual appetite. Sorry Mom and Dad, but this young lady needs to see a list of contents before buying the entire package.
