Oh, my god. I hate this guy.

His name was Tom. He was the first guy I dated after my relationship with The Evil One ended. The worst thing about The Evil One was that I was doing that moron a favor by dating him. I wish I were kidding when I tell you what I witnessed the morning after our first overnight together.

He woke early (The Evil One, not Tom), showered and shaved, while I dozed in his bed--which had a superior mattress compared to mine. It's possible I stayed with him longer than necessary because of the bed.

I heard him puttering around in his closet, and when I opened my eyes, hoping to see him looking manly and well-dressed and all Clark Kent-like, I was completely aghast to see him standing there in tighty-whiteys and a white undershirt. No big deal, right? Ha! He had the t-shirt tucked into his briefs. He looked like he was a man-baby in a onesie. Clearly, I should have high-tailed it, but, sadly, no. I kept dating Mr. Man-Baby, aka The Evil One for a year and a half. What came out of this ridiculous relationship? A few rules that helped me develop other rules, which eventually led me to my husband.

However, one of the things I learned is that a man must be user-ready. Rule 1: If I felt like I had to fix him, then I didn't want him. Rule 2: If I felt like laughing at him first thing in the morning, I didn't want him. Rule 3: If I felt like I was doing the guy a favor by dating him, I needed to run for the hills. My self-esteem took a real nose-dive after The Evil One, though. That idiotic man-baby cheated on my not once, but twice. He flipped the switch on my wanting to stalk him because he was a liar. Rule 4: If I feel like stalking, I don't want him. Rule 5: If it feels like he's lying, then he is lying, which makes him a liar. If he's a liar, I don't want him. Oh, and maybe this is a pretty good pearl (Rule 6): If I think of him as The Evil One, I definitely don't want him. Of course, it takes a while before the evil is evident.

After The Evil One, the very next guy I dated was Tom. He was objectively very good looking and had a decent personality. I met him through friends and did not think he was a possibility until, suddenly, he was. On the first date, it quickly became clear that he was better dressed than I was. It grated on me. Who wants to be in a best-dressed contest with their date? And then I couldn't get past how much gel he had in his hair. He had naturally curly/wavy hair. Gah! So much product. What if my fingers got stuck in their. Jay-sus. No, thank you. He was on the bubble after the first date. I did not care what he thought about me. I kind of hated him but didn't have the heart to tell him. Rule 7: If he dresses better than I do, I don't want him. Rule 8: If he has bad grammar, I don't want him. Rule 9: If he has so much product in his hair, it could be a trap or snare, I definitely don't want him. No date is worth chewing off a limb.

During my first date with Tom, I had an epiphany. Something completely unexpected hit me, and I followed this thought process throughout the rest of my dating days: The guy is interviewing for the job of being my boyfriend. As the hiring manager, it was my duty to ask questions to find someone suitable for the role.

Tom was nice but a lot like the beautiful golden retriever who enters the room when you have a bunch of company. Everyone oohs and ahs, but then the stupid beauty finds a spot in the middle of the room, lies down, and starts licking his balls. Pretty dog, but he was not able to read the room. No one wants to see the ball licking.

My roommate and I had a party--we threw great parties and, it seemed in those days we had a lot of parties, and we knew a ton of people. Tom came, and he spent the night. He was still on the bubble in the interview process of being my boyfriend until it was time to go to bed. I decided when we were getting ready to go to sleep that I wanted to kill him because he wore contacts and made a huge deal, the stupid ball-licker, about needing to take them out and put them in saline. He should have thought ahead. Who cares about being presumptuous. I gave him two cereal bowls filled with water and told him it was the best I could do.

Rule 10: If he's high maintenance, I don't want him. The worst part was that Tom really liked me. The meaner I was, the more interested he was. Rule 11: If he's a doormat, I don't want him.

At the time, I was in graduate school, and final exams were approaching. Tom called to ask me out, and I told him I would be busy for the next month and not to worry about calling me for a month or asking me out during that time. I would love to say he was a slave to my magic vagina, but we never had sex. It must have been my winning personality that kept him coming back.

Eventually day 30 rolled around. Tom called me. It was like he had marked the date in his calendar. Exams were over, and my roommate and I were having yet another party. There were probably over a hundred people traipsing through our apartment. When Tom asked what I was doing that night, I told him I was having a party. And then I had to invite him. Gah! He showed up! Gah! The only thing I could think of doing was ignoring him.

Poor Tom. He really didn't deserve to be crapped on by me, but he was not good at picking up on my very blatant cues, poor, pretty ball-licker that Tom was. Rule 12: If he's a ball-licker, I don't want him. Eventually, he dated someone who wanted to be with a doormat who used bad grammar, and she apparently wasn't worried about losing a finger or whole hand in that golden retriever of a man's gel-riddled hair. And I say this: There's someone for just about everyone.