Perfect Guy

My friend, Carrie, introduced me to an incredible game. It's called Perfect Guy. Perfect Guy was created after she had the experience of going on a date with a guy that she really, really liked. He was intelligent and funny and attractive, and they seemed to share a great deal of interests. He was environmentally conscious and played the guitar and had a great job that he liked. In essence, he was the perfect guy. Carrie was feeling really good about the date until she went to his house and found this on his bed:

Yes, it was a fuzzy unicorn blanket. You know, like the ones that you buy at the border along with the glittery Aztec calendar and the Last Supper wall hanging? Carrie didn't stay the night with Perfect Guy. The blanket had creeped her out.

So now we play Perfect Guy. She describes the perfect guy that I am on the perfect date with and then -WHAM- something that totally creeps me out. So, I thought we could play.

Okay ladies... you're out on a date with that guy you always see at Starbucks. He came over and sat at your table and you discover that he's single, very intelligent, and he laughs as all of your jokes. He's really into that same band that you discovered a few months ago and you have many of the same movies in your top ten. The banter is easy and fun and so he invites you back to his house. You walk in and find this photo hanging on his wall. What do you do?

Okay, here's another one. You're at a bar and the band that is playing has a really hot guy singing lead. He keeps making eye contact with you and you're not surprised when he finds his way to you after the set. You chat and you find that he is just as intelligent and interesting as he is hot. He talks openly about his life and seems very interested in learning about yours. He's grounded and insightful and thoughtful; the perfect guy. You walk outside to have a smoke with him and start kissing. You take off his hat and find this underneath.

Good Lord.

Okay, one more. You're on your third date with the Perfect Guy. He's a professor of philosophy at the university and he does stand up comedy on the weekends on amateur night. On date number two, he took you to karaoke bar and proved that singing Barry Manilow can be sexy. He compliments your writing, pays attention to the conversation, and noticed that you got a new haircut. He's sexy and smart and sensitive, your perfect guy. Except for one little thing...

Run. Run for the hills.

Okay, it's your turn....

(By the way, what inspired this post was the discovery of this store's Christmas catalog at my friend's house with this photo inside. Oh, and this one.)