Prompted by this letter to Dear Lover, I have a confession of my own to make. I keep lists of pros and cons for my objects of affection; the pros in my head and the cons on paper (as they are the ones I tend to need most reminding of). I have such an embarrassment of shortlived relationships and friendly encounters behind me at this stage that I'm considering opening a spreadsheet in Excel. Looking back at some of the written examples that I've kept, it seems that the only absolute dealbreaker occasionally listed among what I perceived as people's faults was that they didn't interest me. My willingness to put up with most else is no doubt unhealthy and a symptom of low-self esteem; I should probably stop billing it as tolerance. Some of the gripes listed are petty, some are not. Some are funny, some are unreasonable; I suspect a lot of them are all too common - I identify very much with the author of the Dear Lover post. Here's a selection of them, a meascán meidhreach of different times, different lovers and different Rosies in some cases (depending on whether or not I'd had breakfast that morning):
- You smother me, and it gives me the creeps.
- You're not affectionate enough.
- Your cock is too small. Not just small, far too small.
- You have nothing to talk to me about.
- You never compliment me how I look.
- You don't get my jokes but you laugh at everyone else's.
- Your constant flattery absolutely mortifies me.
- You make me feel stupid, and you do it on purpose.
- You make me feel bad about being smart.
- You're too short.
- You're not interested in listening to me, just in having someone to listen to you.
- You tell the same stories all the fucking time.
- You're too lazy.
- Your libido disappoints me and you make me feel guilty for it.
- You start every text message with "ha ha" and finish most with a smiley face.
- You put me in a headlock while you sleep. Always.
