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I have a type, and it starts with the letter J
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I have a thing for J names.
Every major relationship I have ever been in has been with someone whose name began with a J. Even creepier than the J phenomenon is that the two people I have dated the longest are both named Jay. This can get confusing, so I refer to them as old Jay and new Jay, or occasionally as ex-Jay and soon-to-be-murdered-Jay, depending if I am angry with new Jay.
With this realization, patterns began forming. I have a type all right, but I haven’t seen it documented before. This is the Galapagos of dating:
- If you cook for me, I am not interested. I have never dated someone who loved to cook and regularly prepared meals while we were dating. I will even go as far as to say that a majority of the people I have dated couldn’t boil water. My current boyfriend doesn’t even understand how to cook an egg over hard (I hate runny yokes) yet used to own a restaurant. Granted, he worked on the hospitality side. This is made stranger by the fact that old Jay is now a chef, but didn’t cook while we dated. OK- he made hamburgers like twice, but that barely counts.
- I will be semi-disappointed in your wardrobe, and slowly convince you to wear tighter clothes. I like to think of me forcing my fashion taste onto my conquests as a war of attrition. In the end I always wear them down, because clothes and shopping and fashion are my fuel of choice. I also think this works out in my favor because, and I quote, I “look like a fancy lady at dinner with a bum.” And eventually the bum realizes everyone is thinking that and gets embarrassed.
- Your parents will be nothing like my parents. I have never met my sweetie’s parents and thought, “Oh, our moms will totally be hitting the sales racks together one day.” Instead, I usually think, “I wonder if they ever have to meet each other…” For this reason, my parents have never met my sweetie’s parents. Which I think is actually pretty slick of me. My current relationship may break that mold, which would make me pretty happy.
- I want you to like me. Really, really like me. I date people who like to be around me all the time and would crawl inside my kangaroo pouch and go everywhere with me if possible. Then I like to complain about it. I have never been in a serious relationship with someone who wouldn’t take a bullet for me. I am not sure if this is a good sign of self preservation or my unending urge to feed my own ego.
- Also, it would be great if you were possibly illiterate. I love reading and carry a book with me everywhere I go yet everyone I date has no interest. None of the Js are stupid; they just don’t particularly enjoy reading. This goes completely against the No. 1 image I had of married life growing up: The two of us sitting in our plush bedroom and reading our separate books before we go to sleep. This image has some kind of romantic hold I cannot explain. Inversely, nearly every J plays a musical instrument and/or is a DJ, whereas I couldn’t care less about music.
Once you see the patterns you can break them, right? Wrong. I see the patterns, and I curl up with them like a baby. These are the things I understand and am apparently really into.
I encourage all of you to make your own lists. It is fascinating … and a little frightening.
Got a burning question or love me to death? Email me at lagebhart@gmail.com
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