So I met this guy…and if you were ever going to immediately classify someone it would be him: meat head, gym junkie, whatever…and I’m one of those people who has the bad habit of putting a label on someone before knowing him. Gym Guy was not your typical gym junkie and seemed really nice. Exchanged numbers and then the texting began.

What’s your natural hair color?

You have beautiful eyes.

You get the picture. I’m really not that kind of girl who soaks up compliments, but he’s trying to put the moves on, whatever. Then the doozy:

I want to paint a portrait of you.

Say WHAT? I laughed, because how could one NOT laugh? Who says that? But he does apparently since he’s also a “painter” as in watercolors and whatever other kinds of paints they use. I replied with a “Haha, let’s hold off on the portraits for now. How about coffee on Friday?” (Note: First “dates” to me should be coffee. No meal, no activity that takes longer than an hour incase you get stuck in predicaments like my last match.com date.)

I could paint you with coffee.

Um, no. Don’t get me wrong, I like a guy to be romantic, but I hate cheesy. And the romantic stuff should wait until at least after the first kiss. ”No painting,” I say because I don’t want to be mean but I want my point to get across. He drops the painting…until the next day when he begins referring to me as “Princess.”

Dude, no. No, no, no, no.

The text messages go back and forth all day with him talking about painting and pet names, me pretty much telling him I’m not the kind of girl who likes the mushy stuff. And just to make sure I wasn’t being a cynical bitch I showed the texts to my friends and co-workers. The general consensus was he’s a pansy.

I canceled our coffee scheduled for yesterday. I told him exactly why. He replies back about how I “judged” him too soon. Maybe I did, but if your text messages annoy me, I can’t imagine what a conversation would entail. One mention of painting me and I’d crack up laughing.  Calling me princess would call for lasers shooting out of my eyes at him.

What did I get out of all of this? I’m most likely not going to end up with one of those “nice guys.”