you're so normal

I was 23 at the time. Fresh off my first real heartbreak, my biggest and baddest breakup so far. In retrospect, it shocks me how quickly I got back in the saddle: I was on a date with this new boy three weeks later.

He was a little older. 26, maybe. Nice and tall, blond hair, very all-American. Played tennis.

There was one night, a couple months into things, when he looked at me admiringly and said, "You're just so normal."

At the time, I wasn't particularly flattered. I thought, okay buddy, if the nicest thing you can find to say about me is that I'm normal, I have a feeling this isn't going to be the love affair of the century.

Three years later, I have done more dating than my 23-year-old self would ever have considered possible. I'm better at it than I used to be, I think, but who can say?

And now, I find, normal sums up everything I'm looking for. It's the word I use when agreeing to go out with someone ("Sure, you seem normal.") or when justifying why I'm still going out with someone ("...but he's so nice and normal."). When my roommate proclaimed Vikram -- who I'll tell you about later -- to be normal, I think that was the moment I was determined to date him.

At 23, I didn't realize how rare it is to find normalcy without dullness. It's easy to meet men who are odd, interesting, and therefore attractive. But invariably they are also a little awkward, a little abrasive, a little inappropriate, a little...something. Just abnormal enough, one way or another, that introducing them to my family and friends is going to be an exercise in advocacy. 

My professional life consists of nothing but advocacy. I don't want to have to do it in my dating life, too. I want to be with someone who doesn't require any preamble.

That all-American boy -- I think he knew something I didn't.