You meet in a city where neither of your lives, at a convention or a wedding. The calls and e-mails are making the phone lines sweat; two months later he’s begging you to visit. You tell the woman next to you on the plane that after years of searching you think you’ve met The One, and the two of you giggle with anticipation to baggage claim. Thirty minutes later, when the carousel stops going around, she looks at you with deep pity and asks if she can give you a ride somewhere. That’s the moment to go straight back to the ticket counter.
At first, he’ll get a little short with a waiter who flirts with you. Then he’ll be exasperated by how long you and the postmaster discuss the rising price of stamps. When he points out that you and your brother hug too long to be appropriate, or that your gynecologist is a lesbian and obviously has the hots for you, it’s time to give him his walking papers. However flattering his jealousies may seem in the first five minutes of your relationship, they’ll get old and confining more quickly than you can imagine, and when you do finally break up with him, he will hang the scarves you left behind on your trees like nooses and follow you and the next man you date all over town.