Zarklephaser
02-22-06, 07:03 PM
We all have our buttons, just waiting to be pushed. Buttons are different from dealbreakers. Tipping poorly, for example, is a dealbreaker, as I refuse to date someone who tips poorly, period.
Buttons are smaller, less universally acknowledged. Buttons can be shameful little things -- one friend of mine cringes when he hears his girlfriend clear her throat in the bathroom. Another grits his teeth whenever he hears the phrase "all right" more than he deems appropriate.
Some buttons have the opposite effect. These buttons are like half-formed fetishes. Personally, I enjoy watching people tweak their coffee; the more ritualized the behavior is, the more I enjoy it.
Some buttons are less cute, though. Buttons can drive us past the brink of normal behavior. A friend I count among the most calm and rational people I know nearly has an aneurism any time someone doesn't call when he said he would. I share that particular button. Within a few hours, I go from "Oh, he must be busy" to "Perhaps he was attacked by a rabid standard poodle." (They were, after all, bred to be hunting dogs.)
The problem is, I suppose, that we're all some degree of crazy quirky, but those parts of us are dirty secrets. We're conditioned not to tell people things like, "When you slurp your soup, I want to pick up the bowl and throw it at you" -- at least not on first dates.
My friend with the phone problem and I have devised a solution to the problem of unintentional button pushing. We call it "crazy cards." We suggest business-sized cards printed with a person's name, preferred method of contact, and a list of things that make that person crazy. The card would be like a cheat sheet of the person's particular buttons. Cards would be fully-customizable, of course, so you could choose typefaces, graphics and design elements that really say something about you.
The true purpose of the cards, however, would be to convey the printed information. If, at the end of a first date, you wanted to move on to a second or (let's not get ahead of ourselves) a third, you could just hand over a crazy card. Then, if the person, say, used your bath towel at some point in the future, you could feel confident that you had already given a written warning that this was unacceptable behavior likely to make you at least a bit irrational. Irrational may or may not translate as "batshit crazy."
Of course, with the advent of trading cards advertising our individual neuroses, we could save ourselves a lot of time figuring each other out. We could also save ourselves some time realizing things are just absolutely not going to work. Rather than leaving me to spend weeks going around in circles, wondering why he never calls when he says he will, he could either choose to call at precise times or just tell me it can't be done and that I should move on. Or, you know, seek counseling.
Buttons are smaller, less universally acknowledged. Buttons can be shameful little things -- one friend of mine cringes when he hears his girlfriend clear her throat in the bathroom. Another grits his teeth whenever he hears the phrase "all right" more than he deems appropriate.
Some buttons have the opposite effect. These buttons are like half-formed fetishes. Personally, I enjoy watching people tweak their coffee; the more ritualized the behavior is, the more I enjoy it.
Some buttons are less cute, though. Buttons can drive us past the brink of normal behavior. A friend I count among the most calm and rational people I know nearly has an aneurism any time someone doesn't call when he said he would. I share that particular button. Within a few hours, I go from "Oh, he must be busy" to "Perhaps he was attacked by a rabid standard poodle." (They were, after all, bred to be hunting dogs.)
The problem is, I suppose, that we're all some degree of crazy quirky, but those parts of us are dirty secrets. We're conditioned not to tell people things like, "When you slurp your soup, I want to pick up the bowl and throw it at you" -- at least not on first dates.
My friend with the phone problem and I have devised a solution to the problem of unintentional button pushing. We call it "crazy cards." We suggest business-sized cards printed with a person's name, preferred method of contact, and a list of things that make that person crazy. The card would be like a cheat sheet of the person's particular buttons. Cards would be fully-customizable, of course, so you could choose typefaces, graphics and design elements that really say something about you.
The true purpose of the cards, however, would be to convey the printed information. If, at the end of a first date, you wanted to move on to a second or (let's not get ahead of ourselves) a third, you could just hand over a crazy card. Then, if the person, say, used your bath towel at some point in the future, you could feel confident that you had already given a written warning that this was unacceptable behavior likely to make you at least a bit irrational. Irrational may or may not translate as "batshit crazy."
Of course, with the advent of trading cards advertising our individual neuroses, we could save ourselves a lot of time figuring each other out. We could also save ourselves some time realizing things are just absolutely not going to work. Rather than leaving me to spend weeks going around in circles, wondering why he never calls when he says he will, he could either choose to call at precise times or just tell me it can't be done and that I should move on. Or, you know, seek counseling.