The Rules.

When I was in my Early Dating Years (think 20's here, not, teens - I didn't even get kissed til I was 18 - I had a long Ugly Phase lasting until maybe, like, three years ago or so) there was this book that was all the rage called The Rules.

Taught such lovely concepts as playing hard to get, never accepting an invitation if delivered after Wednesday at 4, because "you are a creature unlike any other, and are always in demand" - sure, I am indeed a creature unlike any other. We all are. But I don't need to prove how in demand I really am by (I kid you not) setting a timer for a 10 minute chat, only to end it with Gotta Run, So Much To Do Today!! so that I'll leave him hanging for the next tidbit of time I feel so inclined to dole out to him. Expect compliments. (hint at him they're required if need be, so you'll have "trained him") to do the "right things". Always always always wear your best duds, be perfectly coiffed, mani/pedi-ed, shaved, snipped, tucked and smelling delicately of perfume.

Supposedly, he'll be eating out of your hand, just before he slides the biggest bling he can afford on the same hand he's been kissing, most likely having spent the better part of his dating time with you on his knees already.

I do not ascribe to this.

Yep, I think they are indeed The Rules to dating, but being an ass isn't one of them. Neither, by the way, is hanging out by the phone to see if he calls. Thanks to modern technology, I can be rung, texted, emailed, pinged, facebooked and most likely probed by aliens to let me know he's reached out to me. I do agree he should do more of the reaching than I should; after all, who doesn't like to get a call from their honey out of the blue, just to check on your day? Even if it's a boring one?

Instead, I propose The New World Order on The Rules Of Dating, According To Me:

First off, be witty and charming (or, really, just yourself will do, even if you're not necessarily the sharpest grapefruit spoon in the drawer - there really is someone for everyone) and then? Especially when dating as a Second Timer? Be honest.

That's right.

Lay all your shit on the table, let them get a quick peek into Your Real Life, because there is no way, with children, to lead the Dreaded Double Life. I have tried to do it; it is a miserable existence. Sure, I can go from hairy-legged wildibeast to Black Tie Ready in under 20 minutes. I just don't want it to be expected for every date we go on.

Let them see the Real You, scary haired, shocking as it may be - they need to know you're, say, not, a morning person, think anytime After 5 is a great time to put on pj's, (only you call them something fancier, like, duh, After 5s), that you'll serve cereal, fruit and yogurt for dinner, in front of the tv, because your day was a bitch, and now, so are you. That you do not, under most circumstances, shave your legs everyday just on the off-chance they'll get to get near them, up close and personal. Let 'em in enough, if you really like them, to meet you. Not your Game Face. Not what the rest of your acquaintances see, but what your dearest pals see - you with no make up on, going to the bus stop, having thrown on a sweatshirt so no one will notice you couldn't locate a bra by 8:30 in the am; you, laughing so hard you snort at something so funny, that now that you've had the baby? You might just pee a little. That some commercials make you cry, perhaps you have a nasty habit of leaving laundry lint bunnies lined up next to the space between the dryer and the wall; let him see that flowers make you misty-eyed, (especially the ones my son picks to which I'm highly allergic, and the fucker's won't ever die) as much as you can talk about raunchy sex, you're still a bit of a prude when it comes to the follow through.

See, my new rules?

Show them the good stuff. Wear the clothing you like, even if he's not in love with it, because one day, he may very well be in love with you and what brands you like, won't really phase him. He may even buy them for you. The same goes for him; he may have some totally unacceptable wife beaters that he swears he only wears for doing yardwork; you won't love the wife-beater shirt, trust me. But you may one day, love the man. You can always buy him new shirts.

Accept someone for who they are, and let them do the same. The Rules? Doesn't cover this part. The part about how to live once you've "snared your partner for life". I'm not trapping a well dressed overpaid bear; I'm not snaring anyone, thank you very much.

At the ages we are, there really is very little "training" on a grand scale that's going to occur. Can you train him to not leave the last sip of juice in the carton, and place it back in the fridge? Nope. That's an inherited man gene. We'd have nothing to bitch about, if they didn't do that, or track sawdust on freshly done floors, or whatever it is that your man does. That sawdust may very well have been from something he was doing for you.

Say Please, Thank You; compliment her, and him! because let's face it: all the stuff that got you laid in the first place? You have to keep up, or you won't get laid in the second phase of this life you're trying to build together.

The Rules, when it first came out, all the rage, hit the stands, and women lined up by the score, because finally someone had figured out men - and, really, for such a surprisingly simple breed, they're pretty damn complex - while I hate to be the one to point it out?

She got it wrong.

Love isn't just about loving someone at their best, it's loving someone at their worst. And, knowing how to handle it, when those days arrive - as we all know they will - with grace, aplomb, perhaps a soupcon of irritation.....and in my house? A good old fashioned birthday cake.

Now, I know I've gone about this whole dating thing wrong from the start; I was a royal pain in the ass (on purpose!) for the first date; got progressively less finely dressed as time went on, and there were days when he saw jammies he was sure only refugees wore. He accepted me for who I am, today, (most likely tomorrow) and who, perhaps, I will be. (with newer jams, that's for damn sure).

You know what? I like him, Just The Way He Is. Even if I don't understand why his cutting board lives where it does, or how it doesn't freak the shit out of him to leave an iron out (a huge no-no at my house - but it's not my house, it's his), or that he actually enjoys eating those God awful Circus Peanuts.

The Rules should have taught us that beauty truly is only skin deep; the clothes don't make the man. (Especially when you could accidentally ruin that one wife beater he owns by giving it to the dog to shred - oops) The important things are not being so uncatchable that the chase is better than the staid, laying around the house together bored part; that having to tell him you may have ruined a vacuum (yet another one, mind you) because you sucked up one of the rubber bouncy balls every birthday party goody bag contains, and now the house smells like burning rubber will one day be That Funny Story you tell at bbq's, sharing the memories you've made together - even when they didn't seem funny at the time.

And that while his cat loves you, that affair may have reached an abrupt end, because you, um, actually picked her up and vacced her. (For the record? Unless properly trained, this falls under the category of Do Not Try This At Home). Ahem. She still adores me. Just from a slightly greater distance.

I've always believed life isn't a chinese buffet, so when dating, why do we offer up only the choicest bits? So someone can fall for half of us?

Been there, done that. It sucks. Take my word for it.

Marriages last for years and years and years because they knew, both of them, exactly what they were getting into, and they loved them anyway.

They might as well meet The Real You up front, because they're going to one day - and I'd rather know, without a doubt, that they fell for The Real Me, and I for The Real Him.

Take that stupid book The Rules, and use it as kindling. Create your own set of rules: what you can live with, what you simply cannot; make sure that not all your dates take place outside of your home, where you're your real self; for pete's sake, don't hide your true light under a bushel basket.

That's all the stuff he's going to fall for anyway.