My girls and I play a little game we call Deal Breakers. It’s simple. We go through the alphabet and assign one deal-breaker quality – something that would end a potential relationship with a guy- to each letter. A: acne, B: bald, C: cancer…and it goes on. It is a rousing game that results in heated discussion and, sometimes, hurt feelings.
-“T: tattoo?! You’re saying you couldn’t be with someone who has a tattoo?! That’s so closed-minded!”
-“U is for Uniform? Wait – like any kind of uniform? Like, postal worker, military person, fireman? That’s ridiculous. You just don’t want to say B: blue collar.”
-“Yes, C: Cancer. I’m saying I wouldn’t start a relationship with someone currently battling cancer. Sorry. I stand by that.”
I’ll spare you my entire alphabet. Let’s just say Deeb my falafel man was out on enough letters to make for a nice Scrabble turn – or entire game.
I’ll clarify. Deeb my falafel man is the 26-year-old son of Sam, the owner of Sam’s Falafel – the spot three doors down from my apartment that I stop by most, no, every time I come home drunk. It’s the Chee-Chee’s of my adult existence. And by adult I mean current. Deeb took the business over from his father Sam as a change from his years on Wall Street – years he spent making dough (figurative) so he could invest in real estate and continue building his family business. His family, immigrants from Syria, have owned Sam’s Falafel and a number of surrounding properties for decades. Deeb intends to help his father for several years before returning to his own real estate investments and opening a bar or restaurant of his own.
Apparently over the past four or five months of my drunkenly stumbling into Sam’s Falafel, Deeb has taken a liking to me. This I cannot explain, mostly because I only remember about 30% of the details of our dozens of meetings. Apparently I’m black-out charming.
He’s asked me out for drinks – after the New Year (rant on the “after the new year” phenomenon to come). Do I break my deal breakers and go? Crazy-strong New York accent. Tatoos. Lives with his parents. Works crazy hours. Can’t say I see this going far. Then again, weren’t deal meant to be broken? Or was that rules…
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I’d like to propose a superlative to the dealbreaker game that I’m currently teasing out and see whether or not it is in fact a deal breaker.
Y for younger.
A few weeks ago, I met a guy in a bar and numbers were exchanged. A week later, we made plans to meet up. Conversation was amazing, he’s completely attentive, and he’s extremely attractive. Somewhere along the line, he made a comment which instantly prompted me to ask, ‘How old are you?’ 22. Awesome. Younger than my little sister, and still in college…two major dealbreakers in my book.
However, I decided to give this guy a chance and go out with him again (despite Anna yelling, “have fun babysitting” at me as I left the house) in a more sober setting to see if I could detect typical 22 yo boy immaturity. Although there were glimmers of it from time to time, he pretty much passed the test. He’s by no means the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I know for a fact that this isn’t going anywhere serious because at the end of the day, I certainly am no Demi. However, I’m definitely seeing the appeal of the younger man, and it’s kind of fun.
So I guess, contrary to what I would have assumed for myself, Y for younger may not be an immediate dealbreaker, but it certainly is in the room taunting me enough to get in the way.