Is there such a thing as too picky? What’s so wrong about knowing exactly what I want? All I really want is to meet someone and not even realize what I’m getting into. To be so love drunk that I probably shouldn’t be driving. To feel the whirlwind as it flows through what’s left of my hair. Then to wake up one day and finally realize that I’ve fallen head over heels in love. That I’ve been seeing the world under the influence of a spell (but in a good way). Then to sit down at my desk and find out that you’ve inspired me to write the next great American novel. Then the two of us will live out our days sharing a charmed life of growing fame and bohemian parties. So, tell me if you will: Am I guilty of being too picky? Or just of knowing exactly what I want? and what, may I ask, would be so wrong about that?