I do the same thing. When Jake tells me about someone new he met at work, the first thing I ask is, “Is he nice?” I don’t care if the guy is a billionaire, drop dead gorgeous or triple Ph.D. candidate. I just want him to be nice. We’re talking real nice, not the fake kind I mentioned a few days ago, the kind that smiles to your face while stabbing you on the back.

As I told Natalia my preferences, she said, “Yes, I like nice people, too, but imagine a real sweet person that’s not interesting at all. Even if she’s the sweetest, that won’t be enough for me.” Word.

The thing is if I had to pick between a totally boring but kind person and a really interesting cocky prick, I must say I’d easily choose the sweet person. I don’t think I could move past the fact that the guy is a jerk to even notice that he’s fascinating.

A look at my past would easily justify my obsession with kindness. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mean and uncaring people. Enough of them to conclude that all that matters to me is a genuine kind soul.

At the same time, I can totally see Natalia’s point of view. Everyone has different priorities. If I had had another past, I might even feel similarly.

I have a wide variety of friends. At a glance they seem to have nothing in common. But if you looked closer, you’d notice the pattern.

Previously? Sick, Sick, Sick.