Picky

Seriously, my list of dealbreakers is ever growing. It seems I'm finally becoming old and crabby just like I dreamed of as a child... Hirsute women; women with unattractive hands; women who make use of slang and/or expletives (unless they're being ironic); anyone who defines themselves by the clothes they wear or the people they know or the false gods they love; anyone with a casual interest in music rather than an unnatural craving for it... Freakishly brainy. Not at all smart. Lazy or unambitious. Disinterested in horses. Anyone who won't let me name my first born son, Ernest. My second born son, Atticus. My third born son, Francis. And all my daughters, equally, Zooey. I can go on...smokers, alcoholics, religious zealots, non-voters, non-tippers, the uncultured, the unadventurous, the unchallenged, the xenophobic, the neo-Nazis, the neo-Eighties, the bad spellers, the double-standarderers, those with atrocious penmanship, the left-handed, the tax evaders, the ones who configure their toilet rolls to go under as opposed to over, the team anistons, the team jolies, the ones who can't distinguish between "their", "they're", and "there"... I could go on. It seems there is really only one woman for me. Me.