I'm a girl who likes things to be a certain way. As a child, I would take the time every evening to lay my clothes out in the shape of a person (even though I wore a school uniform). As a teenager, I owned a Palm Pilot that I used alongside a daily planner with color-coded highlighters.  In the years since, I transferred my obsessive tendencies from personal organization to dating: creating a long and intricate list of musts, shouldn'ts and had-better-nots.

These informed the world and my future suitors that I was a certain kind of girl. Specifically, I was the kind of girl who wouldn't date blondes, who required men to be between 1-4 years older than her, who hated video games and who would never work out with a man she was dating.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself up at 8am on a recent Saturday morning, donning a bubblegum-pink hoodie and lacing up magenta sneakers to run a Valentine's Day themed 5K with the manfriend, his BFF from high school and his BFF's lovely ladyfriend.

Last week I was filled with anxiety over the impending run. What was I going to wear? Would I collapse in a heap after 5 minutes of physical activity? Would he be totally grossed out with how easily I sweat?

It didn't matter what I wore, because there were so many people dressed ridiculously that I looked amazing in comparison (I'm talking specifically about the bride and groom all dressed up and running a 5K before their wedding). With over a thousand people running around one single lake, it was really more like a brisk walk than a race. 

By the end, I was having so much fun that I tried to sprint fast enough to break away and beat him (and also some small children who had a lead on me) to the finish line. At that point, I could care less how sweaty I was.

I'd be lying if I claimed I didn't see this coming. The past few months have been filled with signs that my iron-clad list of peculiarities has been crumbling around me. He bought me clinical strength men's deodorant. He got me to read a comic book series. He plays video games with my little brother while I write. He READS what I write. Most shockingly, I JOINED HIS GYM AND SOMETIMES WE GO TO THE GYM TOGETHER. What's more, these are all things that I actually, truly LIKE.

I'm not going to wrap this up with a Carrie Bradshaw one-liner, but I think it's clear where this one is going: being open to things can actually bring you a lot of happiness (gagging sound).

What dealbreakers have you been wrong about?

by Nora McInerny