You know how when you grow older and you start becoming more picky about the friends you make because you realise that you know exactly what kind of people you like now? You need people to be a certain way for you to be comfortable around them and you become kind of intolerant with the way some people are. Even those tiny quirks that you were able to drown out with your “open-mindedness” previously are now no longer drownable (like those crazy fire ants)?
[I am aware that I am rambling.]
And you start sifting people out of your lives because they just don’t fit. Your life is already kind of imperfect enough without these people marring its landscapes. You know you are being a twat and you pretend to be concerned about how your character (whatever bits you imagined you’ve managed to scrape together) seems to be degenerating but actually, you don’t.
[I am not really talking about you. I am talking about me. Just to clarify.]
So, you put everyone through this test that they don’t know exist (and if they do, will feel very indignant about). You try to determine people’s worth with arbitrary measures (e.g. their opinion about vampires) that don’t make sense to anyone, including yourself. Everything boils down to a feeling – are you likeable, or not?
[Throughout all this, it does not matter if they like you. Not at all.]
Then there are the people whom you will always like. You keep returning to them and saying, “You won’t believe the people out there these days. They make it so hard for you to like them.” (You say it like it is their fault, because it is.) They will nod in agreement, because they understand.
[And you remember why you like them in the first place.]