A friend of mine called me to talk about her seven month relationship.

The fizz was starting to go faster than a tire blow-out. She was bored and freaked out. “What in the hell is wrong with me?” she pleaded. To tell you the truth I wasn’t really sure.

He hadn’t cheated or killed her cat. He didn’t play air guitar while wearing women’s panties and a cape. “He’s a decent guy. I just don’t know what my problem is.” I was slightly perplexed as well, I’ll admit. And then it hit me. Seven months. The honeymoon is over.

It got me thinking about dating; the beginnings, the excitement and the fear of the honeymoon period ending. This is the time in the relationship when you’ve long since used your top five romantic clichés and you’ve fucked him sideways. Now what?

Is the honeymoon phase really over at the six month mark? Is it that predictable? Or are we more like men than we care to admit—do women get just as bored when the chase is over?

And if we miss the chase do we also want the thrill of the guy who plays hard to get? Do we only thrive on the attraction to boys that are dangerous? I have to say that may have worked on me in my twenties but it doesn’t anymore.

Sure, mystery is exciting, but if you don’t call or you treat me like shit—I’ll be out the door so fast that you’ll look around and wonder where I went. Huh? Who? Where’d she go? What just happened? Um. You suck. I left. That’s what happened.

I’m not one to chase a man. I have a tendency to run around in stilettos and my feet tire easily. I’m old fashioned. Women that are old fashioned and have tattoos are thought to be a myth yet here I am. I’m not a fucking unicorn. I’m flesh and blood and I want doors opened for me. In fact it’s a deal breaker. I understand that every car has automated locks these days gosh darn that walk all the way to the passenger side can be brutal. If you don’t walk around and open my door you may not know me long enough to find out my last name.

You’ll certainly never know what I like to eat for breakfast, if you get my drift.

If you do open my door you can expect that I will lean over and open yours. If you aren’t sure what I mean please rent A Bronx Tale immediately or Youtube the car door test.

I want to be courted.

I’m a closet romantic. I hide everything in there including an Eminem poster. Yes, you read that correctly and I make no apologies.

I don’t want the bad boy anymore. I’ll take one in the bedroom. He can even be in the porn that I’m watching. In an actual relationship? No, thank you. Before you judge, it is possible to be both old fashioned and enjoy pornography.

It is at this juncture that I would suspect some of you are thinking that porn is degrading to women. If that is true and we are talking about boy/girl porn then it must be degrading to men as well. Right? Not only are they also being degraded but when they keep those stupid white socks on they are bordering short bus behavior.

Romance is what I’m looking for. Romance is a turn on. Mental stimulation = hot. I’m a writer. It’s my weakness. Read me a chapter from your favorite book and I’m done for. Write me anything and I lose all sense of reality.

I want the man who tells me that he likes listening to my voice, who wants to stay awake a little later than he usually does just to hear it, who at some point in his day, or week, wonders what he can do to put a smile on my face and knows that I would go out of my way to put one on his.

 In my opinion, every woman loves some sort of romance. If she doesn’t, I would guess that she’s had one fuck of a childhood and for that I am truly sorry.

This brings me back to my friend. It’s possible that she has hit her own segment of the post-honeymoon deal-breaker phase.

The end of the honeymoon period is tricky. If you’re at six months and you’ve realized that the sexy beauty mark under his right shoulder blade is actually a mole, that’s okay. The honeymoon is over. If you love him, the mole is just a part of who he is in his entirety.

On another note, if the sight of his mole makes you sick to your stomach that could be a sign of a bigger issue. If you start nagging him to have it removed, you might want to consider that longevity is not a word that belongs in your relationship.

Lying, cheating, selling your grandmother’s jewelry for beer money—these are the obvious deal-breakers that may or may not infiltrate your relationship. This depends on either his character or how well he can hold up his best behavior and for how long. I don’t think I need to tell you (and I hope I don’t) that if you see any of the aforementioned traits please run.

I do think it’s important to remember that no man or woman is perfect. Don’t forget, ladies, that one day he may decide you paint your face like a whore and he can no longer tolerate your herb garden.

If he respects you, treats you well and has a job, consider cutting him some slack on the way he sips his coffee. But if everything about him is grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard it might be the right time to get out.

If you just want that bad boy, my hat is off to you. If you’ve made up your mind, run with it! Take it for all you can. Be wild. Enjoy it and know that in two months and three weeks you’ll probably be on the prowl again.

Be honest, open and never ever settle but understand that if what you want is a long-term love, there may be some annoying habits that go with the package.

Above all remember that having too many deal-breakers can leave you very lonely.

Real relationships take work, because they become real. The fairy tale may fade but if you’re true to yourself and your heart, you may end up with a long story bound in a lovely hardcover and a happy ending.

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Editor: Kate Bartolotta

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