He had sunglasses on in his profile pic (red flag), but he was holding an adorable mini dachshund in his lap (green flag). I called it a draw and agreed to meet him for a drink. When I arrived for the date, he stood up to greet me wearing short shorts. I mean, not exactly 1980s Tom Selleck short , but close (yellow flag). Then I spotted not one, but two man necklaces (red flag). I decided to set all flags aside for the evening and from there, the conversation flowed. I left the date feeling cautiously optimistic. He was smart, funny, interesting, attractive. In fact, it was one of the best dates I’d had in months. He asked if I wanted to get together again in a few days and I was all for it, even suggested maybe I’d cook for him. Perhaps this is against the rules, but I texted him on the app right away when I got home to say what a great time I had. I gave him my phone number so we could continue our conversation off the app. And then … crickets. Nothing that night and nothing the following morning. Around noon, he finally texted back on the app to say he enjoyed the date, was going to California after all — after what? — and would let me know when he was back. My internal red-flag detector lit up like the torchlight parade at Park City Mountain. How had I misread this? There were signs, of course. The necklaces, the short shorts, the crickets. By 12:03, I’d collected enough evidence to convict. But something stopped me. Was I being fair or had modern dating turned me into Marg Helgenberger on “CSI: Park City”? I texted a group of girlfriends to ask about their own red flags. Sure, I’d expected I’d get some funny replies, some collective wisdom even. But it was way more than that. The first response came in seconds: “You’re gonna have enough flags to make a blanket.” The rest came in a gush as if I’d opened a particularly juicy vein, and then dribbled in over the course of one day and into the next. Holding a fish, animal carcass or rifle. Being Mormon. Being ex-Mormon. Being from Utah. Ethical non-monogamy. Being married; never been married. Unsolicited dick pics. Throwing trash on the ground because you’re “keeping someone employed” Aliens, furries, Harry Potter, conservatives. Patchwork quilted vests and bad hats. No friend group; the wrong friend group. Too needy; too independent; too complimentary; not complimentary enough; comes on too fast; holds back too much. One friend even sent a photo of a pair of “red flag blinders,” she’d received as a gift designed to “ignore all the relationship red flags” and continue entertaining your friends with all your bad life decisions. And my personal favorite: a profile pic of a guy holding an AK-47 with the barrel pointed directly to camera in response to the dating app prompt, “A special talent of mine,” which preceded a suggestion to get together for a “casual coffee to see if the vibe matches.” Apparently, I hadn’t just tapped into red flags. I’d triggered layers of unresolved grievances that ran so deep they were on the verge of collapsing under their own weight. The sedimentary rock of accumulated dating experience, bad relationships, worse marriages and too many men left to their own questionable fashion choices. It was as if my friends had been waiting years for someone to ask. But were all of these replies really red flags? One man cheats on his wife. Another talks over women. Yet another is jealous or spiteful. And one happens to wear an unfortunate vest. Yet all are filed under the same heading: RED FLAG. Even my own closing argument about man necklaces isn’t exactly evidence that said man isn’t emotionally available. No shade on Harry Styles. I just really don’t like man necklaces. Maybe we’ve become too good at finding reasons not to like someone. I equate 21st century dating with tire-kicking. If one dude doesn’t meet all the qualifications, another one who might is just a swipe away. I fantasize about a time when dating was simpler or maybe non-existent. Imagine living in the 1800s when there was a total of seven eligible men, all within a half-day buggy drive. Four are cousins. Two have tuberculosis. That leaves Jedediah, who has a beard the size of an adult groundhog. But hey, he owns 14 acres. Ladies, grab your bonnet and LFG. Back then, nobody worried about whether there was spark. A few head of cattle and a literal pot to piss in was chemistry enough. Now we stop at nothing short of “The Notebook.” Amid all the tire-kicking we’re losing something that really matters: our ability to be curious. Instead of rolling our eyes at the absurdity of the ick, we could be trying to discover what really makes someone tick. I once asked a friend about the secret to her long-term marriage. Whenever her husband does something truly annoying, she muses to herself, Isn’t that adorable. But not all red flags can be magically transformed into something charming. As one friend said, “Given what I was married to and the man he became, I should’ve paid more attention to the red flags.” Other friends echoed the sentiment. They weren’t just being overly picky. They’ve learned things — jealousy, control, dismissiveness. Someone who consumes all your time. Someone who diminishes you. Their red flags were acquired at a cost. After years of marriage and subsequent years of dating, I can relate. I’ve been rejected. I know what it’s like to hurt someone and to be hurt myself, to lose parts of myself. Given those experiences, a red flag can signal genuine danger. Or at least a kind of protection from our own vulnerability. Like, if I find something wrong with you first, I don’t have to find out if you’ll eventually find something wrong with me. Or if I’ll fall for you. Or if being with you will require giving up something I’ve fought hard to reclaim. I’ll be the first to admit: part is wisdom, part is armor. We’ve earned both. Maybe men like Necklace Guy aren’t competing against every other dude we’ll meet on Hinge or Bumble or even IRL on the pickleball court at City Park. Maybe they’re competing against the lives we’ve built for ourselves in the meantime. For me, that’s a high bar, and I’m OK with it. If Mr. Necklace does reach back, maybe I’ll see him again. But not because I’ve decided red flags don’t matter. Just because I’m curious enough to find out who he is. The necklaces, however, remain under review. The post Betty Diaries: Let’s run it up the red-flag pole appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less