I must say, damn I’m good at making nerdy firearms references sound risque. Field-strip, blindfolded? I had myself in stitches over that one.
I bet you can still see why I’m still single.
Seriously, though, my dating rules would be more like:
Must be attractive. This rule is first, but not foremost. The first thing I notice about women IRL is the way they look. If they look like a haddock, sorry, no, let’s be friends. But I find most women between 20 and 40 (et al.) to be atractive, so it’s not a big barrier.
Must be interesting and interested. Giggles lose points. She’d better be smart/masochistic enough to be interested in all the kooky ideas I generate. Preferably, she’d also be smart enough to help me sort the kooky-but-great ideas from the kooky-and-stupid ideas. Preferably well-educated.
Must not have any odious personal habits. Tobacco is the big one, but gum-snapping, seismic belching, and torturing small rodents would all be grounds for immediate failure.
Must not hold everything I do wrong against me. I do a lot of stuff wrong. I still can’t quite get the soap suds off the dishes I hand wash. It’s not because of an abiding disrepect for the female sex.
Must not be extremely demonstrative with emotions. There’s nothing wrong with the stereotypically Italian (I have Italian-American relatives, I know the stereotype and its limitations) habit of hand-waving and voice-raising, but I can’t handle the foot-stomping, slapping-self-in-forehead, shouting style of communication. I’ve tried it before, in a relationship with a very nice, smart, sensible Italian-American. Didn’t work; she just about wore me out every time we talked about anything serious.