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Monday, July 23


The little things get me most. All the things that I used to think in the back of my mind, quickly, fleeting, they would fly through my brain and I would smile at the impossibility of them. They don't matter really. Completely inconsequential, actually. But still. They existed. And they were thoughts. Requests. Teensy standards. But always, always, I was aware that I am picky. I am. I am picky, choosy, judgmental, turned off by the smallest fault in a person. But these thoughts, these fleeting standards were small. They did not compare to the fact that the person I wanted to be with would have to be self-assured, would have to have high morals, would have to be optimistic and open-minded. There were big standards, like the ones I just listed, and then there were smaller ones. The person would have to be an environmentalist, not into materialism, had to wear nice pants and cute shoes. The person would have to be sarcastic, would have to read, would have to have goals. And then these small, teensy things. It would be so nice if the person would prefer my full name, instead of "SP." It would be so nice if the person liked driving. It would be so nice if the person was musically inclined. It would be so nice if the person appreciated food as much as I do. It would be so nice. But even as these thoughts would pass through my mind, I would shake my head. Impossible. Impossible.

At her request, I listed these standards and more to my mother. At first she laughed. Then she shot me a slightly worried look. "Satpreet. No one like that exists." "Satpreet. You're going to have to be less picky." Really, Mom? Honestly, I thought so too. At that time, I thought so too.

But look now. Miracle of miracles, I found him. I found him.

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