1. Your arrogant manner with cab drivers. A sub-category of related complaints "I Hate The Way You Act With Restaurant Wait Staff" and "I Hate The Way You Identify Yourself as 'Mr X' When Calling Hotel Front Desks From Your Room", this irks me because when you call them "Sir", the disdainful look on your face and condescending tone of your voice say you really mean, "You inferior, low-class piece of Third-World detritus". I also hate the know-it-all-y way you tell them which route to take, as if you're a native New Yorker rather than a Baltimoron.

2. Your Gucci loafers, because you wear them A. with socks, and B. without irony. Ditto the Ralph Lauren polo shirt you have with the oversized pony: it's dumb, and people think you're a pretentious wanker when you wear it. Who do you think you are, Jay Gatsby?

3. The way you care more about money and possessions than people's feelings, especially mine. This is a BIG one. You broke up with me in an EMAIL, and one of your first paragraphs addressed your BIG FUCKING NEED for me to return the Time Warner equipment that was in your name. Even though you failed to mention why you were breaking up with me, abruptly, or apologize for not being man enough to tell me in person. PS Really? An email? Grow a dick, Junior, and be on your way.

4. The way you straighten your kinky hair and slather product on it. You're Jewish, and you have a Jewfro! Embrace it; don't be a self-hating Jew. You look like an un-funky, un-cool, Caucasian, self-hating James Brown. PS When you straighten your hair, it makes your bald spot really POP. And it smells weird.

5. The short, tight shorts and matching tops you insist on wearing to the gym. You're not four, and Garanimals are no longer appropriate! You have impeccable taste in fashion--generally--but I'm embarrassed to be seen with you in public because you look RIDICULOUS in color-coordinated mint-green and lavender.

6. The smug, holier than thou way you speak for me, e.g., "We are not big drinkers", or "We only use a Vitamix". Don't put words in my mouth, especially when those words are really saying "We are SO LAME!!! Please like us!!!" Unlike you, I don't feel the need to impress people with how abstemious/committed to fitness/disciplined I am. Have a burger and STFU.

7. The way you think Fox News is a legitimate news source. Listen, Pal, I don't care what your politics are. Go ahead and be Republican if you want! But to try to convince me that band of rug-sporting, red-faced, belligerentgasbags and brittle, blond, feminism-hatingsuccubi who are a disgrace to womanhood everywhere are real journalists not only insults my intelligence, but plunges me into a state of deep rage and leads me to question both your sanity and your supposed taste.

8. Your "family values". Like that horrible woman who wrote that horrible article in the New York Times magazine several years ago, you firmly and unapologetically believe you should come before my children and that I should love you more. Disregarding the fact that this would catapult them onto a permanent spot on a therapist's couch and rob them of the ability to trust for the rest of their lives, you're trying to rewrite my genetic code as a woman and mother. Your reason for this absurd position: because in a couple of years they will go to college, and then what will I have? Newsflash- they are my children, not my roommates. Just because your mother didn't put you first will never make me do the same to my children and risk making them into emotional fucktards like you who are incapable of having a fulfilling relationship.

9. Your false piety. I'm the first to admit I'm not a big fan of participating in institutionalized religion, but if you do, more power to you. Just don't act like you are super-observant, when you'd rather go have cocktails downtown and to Mercer Kitchen for dinner on Friday night than stay at home lighting candles and having a glass of Manischewitz, and then call me when you're away to check and see if I'm " making kiddush".

10. The way you affect the accents and mannerisms and speech patterns of the people around you, especially if you sense they are cooler than you, like my 14 year-old son and his friends, or the bartender at that great pub we went to in London. The sad thing is, you were enough for me just as you were. Your insecurity and lack of confidence in your own considerable intelligence, charm, and sense of humor conspired to make you gild the lily with other people's characteristics, which suited you as awkwardly as an ill-fitting sports jacket and killed your own potent vibe.