Find a girl who doesn’t care about her looks. She will probably be self-consciously among a group of coworkers, out for a drink at a dimly lit city pub. Her drink will be ordinary. Probably a rum and coke. You’ll spark up a conversation about healthcare reform and her opinions will be limited to the 2 inches of a Sunday paper. Make sure her nails are short and bitten. Make sure she never read Bukowski. If she feigns interest in pantone color palettes or avant-garde 70’s protopunk, run like hell. If she keeps your thoughts busy with stories she heard on late night television, buy her a beer without offering or asking what she wants.
Exchange number before leaving in a cab. Refuse to go back to her condo in the outskirts of town. Follow her on Instagram. Make sure she has under 300 followers and no comments from horny guys worshipping her figure in a swimsuit. If she only takes pictures of the eggplant she made for dinner and sunsets from her office, text her the next day on your morning jog. If she answers quickly, you know she’s a keeper. Make plans to see a movie about talking animals or foreign spies. If she finds meaning in the plotline, tell her you want to meet her mom. Begin a serious long-term monogamous relationship.
Buy a house a few hours outside of the city. Make sure it’s by a strip mall and the neighbor’s husband works in real estate. Get a dog. She’ll want a dog. Maybe a labrador retriever or a mutt from a no-kill shelter. Put ‘life is good’ stickers on your Prius. Regularly water your lawn. She’ll bring you glasses of lemonade even if you’re not thirsty. Take one sip and leave it on the porch for her to clean up later. Rarely have sex. When you do, never make it last. Don’t pull out.
Hold her hand when you’re in Lamaze class. Name your kid something boring like Steve. Give up your dreams and become a Little League coach. Make sure she never had dreams to begin with. Let her get fat first. Then drink beer with every meal. Put ‘my child is on the honor roll’ stickers on your Prius. Save money in a college fund. Find similarities between her and your mother.
Don’t date a model. She’ll always remind you how beautiful she is. She won’t say it. She’ll let the light pouring in from your sunroof on her eyes do the talking. Don’t date a model because you’ll never live anywhere besides the city or the beach. Your loft will always smell like sage and Raw joint papers. She’ll tan in a bed and get hit on at the bar right in front of you.
Don’t date a model because she’ll make you a photographer. You’ll feel compelled to capture her contours on film. You’ll rearrange how her arms fall while you frame up a shot during a day-trip out to wine country. Her religion is Dior. You’ll marry her under the Mac brushed lights of a fashion show. The runway is her church isle. Your flash bulbs the wedding ring. She’ll say “I do” to Christian Louboutin before she ever says “I love you.” She’ll only love you in photographs. Her kisses confined to Polaroids. Whatever you do, don’t date a model.