The Upgrade

by Jamie

If I had a conversation with someone, and he or she were to ask me to describe a potential mate, the following dialogue would occur:

“So, Jamie, what do you look for in a mate?”

“Ah.. well, I seem to always look for the same characteristics in a potential boyfriend. I believe Mr. Almost Right must be attractive, intelligent, and funny.

“How… broad and unoriginal.”

“Okay, he must be a quick-witted, cynical, adorkable, and charming man, who plays Scrabble.

After exchanging the above conversation with the voice inside my head, I couldn’t help but wonder: if we look for the same qualities in a potential mate, are we just dating the same person over and over again? (Just in a different body with a different last name?) At first glance, yes, I was certain that I was dating the same person. Everything seemed to be the same: their mannerisms, their music tastes, their quirks, and even their noses. At giving it a thirty-second thought, I believe that we are just dating an improved version of the former mate.

Also known as an upgrade.

I have heard that people can sometimes be like fine wine because we typically get better with age: our wisdom, our patience, and even our confidence. We improve in our every-day relationships, including the romantic ones: what we look for, what we will and will not put up with, and (hopefully) develop a better sense to detect if he or she would be good for us. Which ultimately means we are one step closer to meeting that someone who is willing to put up with our shit, and find it completely endearing.

As adults, (normally) we throw out the superficial must-haves: He must be tall, dark, and handsome. We do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, they’re undoubtedly unrealistic and shallow. I, a woman who stands at five feet, three inches, am coming to terms that wanting a man who is over six feet isn’t going to love me anymore than a man at five feet, nine inches. (He still needs to have dark hair, however.) Secondly, what we found attractive four years ago may not be so appealing now. I’m fairly certain the only prerequisites for a boyfriend I had in high school were that he should be good-looking, on the baseball team, and not in the Anime club. Who cares if he couldn’t hold a conversation? He was hot and I could flaunt him on my arm. You know, like he was an accessory.

Of course, I never managed to acquire the popular baseball player and wear him like a handbag. The only (and first) boyfriend I managed to get in school was during my senior year. He was tall, lanky, and musically inclined. He lived at home (his mom cooked us food), worked at Abercrombie and Fitch (Hello, discounts!?), and could get alcohol in my hands (Need I say more?). He was Mr. Almost Right to seventeen-year-old Jamie.

However, he would not be Mr. Almost Right to twenty-two-year-old Jamie. I wouldn’t be too thrilled to learn that a man over the age of 26 was still living at home. Sure, it would be nice that his mother could cook for us every time I came over, but it wouldn’t be so nice having to worry about a mother coming into the room, uninvited. And I wouldn’t be too delighted to learn that anyone out of high school is still buying clothes from Abercrombie and Fitch.

Like most good things, it came to an end. He shattered my heart and left me on my own. I was devastated. After all, he was my first everything: kiss, love, the one to see my naked body in all its glory, and now.. breakup. The inevitable thought occurred: I will never be able to do this again with someone. But after the seventy-second time of him dismissing my pleads and cries, I did the only thing a desperate seventeen-year-old girl would do: I went for an upgrade.

It didn’t take long to find my upgrade. I didn’t even research my options. In fact, I went with the first one that I saw that made my stomach flip-flop. That one, right there!

So, let me get this straight: You live on your own? You’re actually tall, dark, AND handsome?! You really ARE bigger and better.

Of course with every upgrade, come the risks. The risk that the upgrade may not be entirely compatible with the user. The risk that the upgrade could actually worsen the product. And it did.

I’ve developed a habit since. A habit where I (subconsciously or not) compare and contrast the past and present boyfriends to one another and to the ideal boyfriend who lives inside my head, rent free.

I must ask myself: (If yes is said, I move on to the next question. If I say no, I abort immediately.) Is he attractive? Does he know the difference between your and you’re and other homonyms? Does he make me laugh until I cry? Does he play Scrabble? Does he like cats? Does he read? Does he vote left? Does he find it funny that people believe in an imaginary man in the sky? Does he have good taste in music? Does he dress well? Does he cook? Does he like pulp in his orange juice? Which inevitably leads me to:

Is he worth the upgrade?

Unfortunately, most cannot seem to pass the homonym question.