Is that so much to ask?

Where does the line fall between reasonable selectiveness and neurotic disdain for the entire male race? Because I’m fairly sure I’m treading that line. Maybe even leaning more to one side of it. (Which side, you ask? I’ll give you a hint: Things aren’t looking good for the entire male race.)

            My whole existence with the male species has been one of stormy malevolence (by their doing, not mine). (Well, mostly by their doing anyway.) Since as far back as I care to remember, my mother has always harped on me about not giving boys a chance. For example, I don’t particularly care for beefcakes and/or meatheads. Therefore, according to Mother Dearest, I have completely ruled out an entire group of otherwise dateable boys: Football Players. My issue with that accusation is this: I haven’t intentionally ruled out an entire class of men—it just so happens that the entire football team falls into the category of beefcake and/or meathead. Is it my fault that the starting line-up has forearms thicker than my entire torso? No. No it isn’t.

            Football players aren’t the only group I’ve inadvertently declared intolerable and void—I’m an Equal Opportunity Boy Discriminator (EOBD). The complete list of unacceptable groups and individuals is as follows: rugby players, metrosexuals, particular fraternities (I’m being redundant—sorry), short people, people who wear Jesus sandals, other certain fraternities (I have grudgingly omitted the names of said fraternities in order to protect the innocent and reduce the possibility of hate mail), people who exercise the use of the word “Girlie/Chica” (and think it’s completely normal), Redheads, people who use the wrong form of “your/you’re”, jocks, beefcakes/meatheads (did I already say that?), and basically any guy who is even slightly bland/dull/too “vanilla” for my liking. Did I leave anyone out? Oh yes, and people who aren’t Michael Cera.

            I feel as if these are all reasonable requirements; a girl has got to have some standards.

            So, I will continue to tiptoe around the boundaries of acceptable exclusiveness and irrational disparagement until someone comes along who forces me to break down my boy bias, whether I like it or not. Until then, my imaginary romance with Zac Efron will have to suffice.


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