You are European, or of European extraction--bonus points if German. Especially from the state of Hesse. Born in the city of Wiesbaden (right near the banks of the Rhine)? We'll probably hit it off.

You are artsy. But not artsy in an "I'm a tortured artist" way. More like an "I write chōrenga haiku on toilet paper and paste them in configurations resembling various South Pacific atolls." Single-ply only, please.

You love going out to eat, but are equally happy ordering in. Whatever the fourth appetizer and third entrée down are. As long as one item, and one item only, contains a root vegetable, and the restaurant name has one-third as many vowels as consonants.

You're equally comfortable in a tux and in sweats. The tux, of course, should have a vest, not a cummerbund, unless it's a light purple cummerbund. And the sweats must be heather gray and have a small tear in the groin.

You don't need to love cats, necessarily, but you have to at least find something in them that vaguely reminds you of a horrific third-grade nightmare that still haunts you well into adulthood.

You must love kids! That is to say, Joseph Wimple, of Meriden, CT. No, he's not my son--I don't even know him. But you must love him. While that small, shameful part of you simultaneously loathes him.

You're athletic--I'm not looking for Michael Jordan or anything, but it would be nice to find someone of Charles Oakley's caliber, or anyone else on the front line of the 1988-89 New York Knicks.

Let's get down to brass tacks: You're Wiesbaden-born former Knick small forward Kiki Vandeweghe.