Friday, March 25, 2011

Newsflash: I'm a Fucking Snob.

So I've been on a few dates now with this guy. We'll call him Mr. Dependable. He's got his shit together: owns his own business, owns a few properties, has a dog, a cat...the works. He checks most of the major boxes. There are some boxes he doesn't check: he is not well travelled and didn't go to university or college. There are also the shallow things that drive me crazy; not a great dresser, drives a big truck, and lives in the suburbs. But I keep telling myself he's got potential. He's kind, he's caring, he's supportive and thinks I'm "awesome," which he tells me all the time. He brings me flowers. He wants to get married and have babies. He loves his mom. He watches Buffy. So I keep telling myself not to be so damn picky, that maybe "good enough" is...well, good enough. That I can live without the "nice to haves" since he has all the "must haves."

Mr. Dependable blew it tonight, though, mostly because, I've realized, I'm a high-maintenance, picky snob. He wanted to take me to dinner (we haven't done the dinner date thing yet). Guess where we went?



I mean, really? Is that where you take a girl you want to impress? It's not about the price of things, it really isn't. I know when you own your own business, you get paid last, if at all, and that money can be tight. Really, it's not about taking me to a five-star restaurant and dropping $100, but how about the great little hole-in-the-wall place you found that has amazing $5 tacos (hint: there's one at Hastings and Cambie). Or why not show me you've got skills on the grill, and barbecue me a steak? Or pack a picnic and drive me somewhere beautiful. I just felt like - Earl's? Really?

When he drove me home tonight, I felt my heart sinking. I'd been trying so hard to make chemistry happen with this guy because he does look so great on paper. But he's missing that Snob factor I need. I need someone who can out-scene me, out-culture me, once in awhile. Mr. Dependable, happy in his suburban castle and anxiously awaiting his own wedding and children, in some ways represents all the things that stifled me growing up. It just can't work. Earl's on a Friday night is just not the future I want.

Which officially makes me a choosy bitch and a fucking snob. Because this man is kind and chivalrous and supportive and admiring. And I'm going to toss him aside, over a burger at a chain restaurant.