Please be taller than me so I can wear heels every now and then.
They click on the concrete and make me feel like a woman; a strong, bold, beautiful woman. So please be taller and understand it’s not personal. I am already 5’6” and biology predispositions the fact that I need (want?) someone to be stronger, bigger, faster, to protect me, to protect our potential offspring. And no matter the gravity of the chemistry we may have, if I don’t ever truly feel safe in your presence, I will never be weak in your arms.
Please be educated enough to use the correct “your” / “you’re”.
I used to think higher education was a natural progression of individualist growth until I learned more outside the classroom than inside. But when you text me to tell me “your beautiful” I will feel the need to correct you, in fact I will correct you. And you will stop complimenting me and I will stop seeking attention from you, and you will wonder why it is so hard for me to accept your compliments, and it will be traced to this awkward moment when you failed to retain third grade grammar. I will start to wonder other things you have failed to learn since third grade and so on and so on and so on. And all my thoughts will fill the silence from your lack of compliments, and my love language is words of affirmation. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Kik, Twitter, Tumblr…
No. To all of them. If you have to ask, it’s not happening. (Similarly, advice for post-Tinder communication- you’ll get more nudes by not asking.). We both swiped right, and I have my Tinder carefully curated so that you can’t find me IRL (surprise!). Because catfish and men are weird and let’s see if we can find compatibility over a couple messages before you stalk my life!
Please don’t ask my stats.
The past is there, and I will share the lessons I have learned in time, and at the right time. Because I am more than my longest relationship, more than a tally of men to come (cum?) to me before you, more than the count of my ex boyfriends, and sexually exploitive behaviors, and more than my sexuality in and of itself. Why are you asking? My assumption is because you are insecure (power tripping maybe?), which will manifest itself in more than simple questions of my past, and we will likely fail. I will happily put all of your realistic insecurities to rest, but I cannot and will not be individually secure for the both of us.
Age is just a number.
Gag me, I know. But truly. Don’t ask. And don’t tell me. We are likely getting beer on our first date, so we’ve got the age -thing settled. Instead, take your age as a number, and spend that many minutes telling me about the last time you cried, and who was the first person to break your heart, have you had a near-death experience, what did you learn from your first job? Take all those minutes and tell me how many times you have been in love, and lost someone you loved, tell me where it hurts and why, what book is on your nightstand, and what do you fear the most. Then spend the rest of the minutes laughing because I’m a sucker for a good time.
Stop creeping on my location.
First, shout out to the guy who called me out at 4am for definitely not being home, and then realizing he made an ass of himself because I was home, sleeping, in my own bed, alone, and Tinder hadn’t refreshed my location. Also, what? Why? Don’t you have a life and other things to do than routinely see how far apart we are? Go floss your teeth, lift some weights, bake a cake, call your mom, fold your boxer briefs, do something- anything, please (need I remind you this isn’t Bumble).
I want to be the only person who calls you daddy.
I am sure your offspring is the best thing that ever happened to you and I truly believe you are great at co-parenting, but I’ve been playing with all the birds and all the bees since I was sixteen and I’ve never even had a pregnancy scare. Because I am not a mother myself and don’t feel like diving head-first into your family when I’m still learning how to function in my own. Because I’m fucked up sexually and want to call you daddy until you get off which may be a little weird when you then wake up and make smiley face pancakes for your mini-me who also calls you…daddy. (sorry?)