Possibly David needed to raise the bar of expectations a bit. His qualifications were somewhere between an appreciation for music and fairly loose jeans that could be maneuvered off, preferably by the end of the first date. Not that he ever accomplished that lofty goal. Talking was welcome, but optional. He generally was appalled at my criteria. I needed an appreciation of Beethoven and George Jones. I needed at least a general understanding that Sophie’s Choice had not a thing to do with Roe vs. Wade. If they considered Tom Wolfe to be among the top literati of our times, I could hear wedding bells ringing ever so faintly in the distance. Maybe I should mention to him that his chances of success dwindled from the start when he dated people whose first names ended in ie and whose idea of fine dining was Taco Hell.