I don't like him,” my mother said. I had called her from the train after visiting my long-distance boyfriend of eight months in Boston. I wanted to tell her how hard I had fallen for him, a man I had gone to college with but didn’t know then. We met at our 10-year reunion and immediately connected. He was moving to Brooklyn to live with me. I was thrilled, but my mother insisted it was a mistake.
“You’ve never even met him,” I said.
“I have negative vibes,” she said.
“You’ve never even seen him.”
“I don’t like what he posts on Facebook.”
“You’ve never had one conversation with him.”
“He’s not a bad person,” she said. “He’s just not right for you.”
“You focus on such superficial qualities,” I argued. “Snap judgments tell you nothing about a relationship.”
“I’m a profiler. It’s what I do for a living.”