Okay, I’ll be honest: I hate dating. It isn’t just that I feel awkward and shy around men and that I get oh-so-tired of men who prefer to direct their part of the conversation to my boobs instead of my face. I do hate that, but there’s more: I have this overwhelming sense that the type of guy to whom I am attracted is a true rarity, and that is more than just a bit disheartening.

Now I’ll be the first to admit that I’m probably the fish out of water, so to speak, considering that I do live in an area where the desire to find someone with their own teeth (or at least reasonable AND professionally made facsimiles thereof) significantly diminishes my number of dating prospects. But if I factor in a just a few other qualities I find attractive, I basically whittle down the number of desirable men to somewhere around 3. And that’s on a good day.

My best friend Gwenn has often accused me of “résumé dating,” of having a secret checklist of qualities a man MUST have, with any omission thereby qualifying him for a one-way trip to the curb. And while I think she’s probably right, I wonder if this is actually a criticism. Is it too much for me to want to find an intelligent, honest, non-smoking, somewhat health-conscious man who listens to music other than that which he first heard in high school, who knows who he voted for in 1988 or 1992 or even 2004, who actually owns books AND reads them? If I ask for a man who knows the difference between “your” and “you’re,” between “there” and “their,” between “to,” “too,” and “two,” am I asking for too much? What if I wanted to meet a man whose vocabulary isn’t limited to mono-syllabic words (outside of the occasional reference to “restrictor plates”)? Moreover, even if he has the vocabulary of a golden retriever, am I pressing my luck to seek out a man who knows that spell-Czech is his friend?

And what if I threw in some of the qualities that I don’t like--am I being too picky to want someone who doesn’t think he’s from Saturn? Who doesn’t think a grocery store is a great setting for a first date? Who doesn’t have anger management problems that come out over things like a guy at Radio Shack who does something as innocent as handing him a receipt? Who isn’t still in love with his ex-wife who he left fifteen years earlier? Who can put down his bong long enough to do things like…um…work? Who doesn’t think that praying really, really, really hard for me will change me? Who isn’t completely smitten with himself and only wants from a woman an affirmation of those feelings? Who isn’t so impressed with his occupation that he introduces himself by saying his name and then what he does for a living? Who bathes regularly AND washes his clothes at least sometimes? Does wanting a man who meets all of these criteria make me a finicky bitch?

I am beginning to think so.

But a few years ago, my cynicism was nearly washed away when I met a man, a really, really cool man. He was a smart, athletic, good-looking animal lover who was as interested in politics and music as I am…AND he was an amazing cook. In fact, the night he served me grilled stuffed Portobello mushrooms with homemade pesto and blackened tuna steaks (medium rare!), I was fairly convinced that I’d found the man of my dreams. And it only got better when, afterwards, as we let our meal digest, we sat on his couch screaming at Bill O’Reilly in unison. Everything seemed perfect.

Yet, just a few days later, while we were walking in the woods together, he grabbed my hand and licked it. Now I am not trying to tell you about a playful, flirty, brief stroke of his tongue over my skin or anything that could be construed as even remotely sexy; no, instead, this was a long, drenching, slathering wash of the entire surface of the backside of my hand, the kind for which you chide your dog when he does it to the neighbor. And then, oh my, then he pulled my hand to his nose and sniffed it, over and over, in the area that he’d just licked--again, just like your dog would do.

I knew I didn’t want the answer but I had to ask what the hell he was doing. He looked up from my hand and said, “They say that you can find out if you’re truly compatible if you like the smell of someone’s skin when it is mixed with your own saliva.” Then he smelled my hand a few more times and I watched as his face puckered with disgust.

Yeah, it was at that moment when a heretofore unknown dealbreaker was exposed…and trust me...it was a dealbreaker for both of us.