We all know, at this point, that I have a type. Like, majorly have a type. I always have – when I was younger, it was tall, skinny, with dark hair and a beard. Now I’ve shifted to liking a little bit of chunk – something to hold onto, something to cuddle up to. But, other than that, it’s still basically the same – I date tall, hairy, chunky men. It’s predictable.

This guy messaged me on OKCupid. His message was really smart, funny, creative. In one message, he covered camping (hates it) and reality TV (loves it). His profile mentioned that he has a favorite kind of pen. It was so good.

But there was a problem.

He was skinny and couldn’t grow a beard.

Even so, he seemed so perfect that I decided to give it a try. We had amazing text chemistry. He liked the Millionaire Matchmaker. He was on an Old Overholt kick. And he said he liked a woman who was “a challenge.” Everything was trending toward a great fit.

So, we met up for tacos and frozen margaritas. He showed up, and he was good-looking, sure. But I felt like I had a lot more personality than he did. Sure, he was smart. Obviously smart. But he was…boring.

And then it came out.

He went to Harvard.

I have a major, major anti-Ivy bias. Even as a 17-year-old, I knew that I hated the elitism and prestige of an Ivy League school. I hated the idea that people went for the name. I never wanted to feed into the idea that all smart people go to Ivies. I was an A student with exceptional SATs, and I had been captain of a boy’s wrestling team. I could’ve gone wherever I wanted. I could’ve gone to Harvard.

But I didn’t.

When touring schools, my dad and I had this system – we’d stop people at each school and asked what had made them choose it. Everywhere else, people had creative reasons and things they loved about the school. At Harvard, everyone just said, “Well, I got in, and you can’t say no to Harvard.”

Bullshit. I could.

Plus the major Ivy Leaguers – Harvard, Yale, Princeton – are always fucking boring. I know. I’m a major hater. I own it.

Anyway. To be fair to him, this guy wasn’t pretentious. But he clearly felt the same way as those Harvard students I’d spoken to years ago – he wanted the name.

Oh, and he wore a Harvard ring.

Puuuuuuuuke. Puke. Puke. Puke.

I know it’s probably unfair, but the Ivy League thing is something I hate so much that I kind of can’t get past it. Put a hairless, skinny, boring man on top of that? Let’s just say he’s not getting on top of me (Ohhhhhhhh!).