He’s an immature porn addict.

On the second date, a guy asked if he “could keep me,” which was creepy but didn’t deter me from continuing to see him. Eventually we started a serious relationship and I moved in with him. While living together, he thought it was funny to sit on my face and fart, showing his maturity level was equal to that of a fifth grader. He was a huge slob so I was always cleaning up his mess. On one of these cleaning ventures I found pictures and letters from every single ex he’d ever had. When I confronted him, he said I shouldn’t have been looking at his stuff, despite the fact that it was laying all the hell over the place. Other occasions of note included him throwing an hour-long fit because I wouldn’t let him see his Christmas gifts pre-holiday and him pushing me over a bed as a joke right after I’d gotten back surgery.

Over time, we started having sex less and less and arguing more and more. We stopped living together but continued dating. No longer sharing a place, he decided he didn’t have to answer my calls and would make up lame excuses for not picking up his cell. Then came the kicker: I noticed that he was hiding his face during sex so that he wouldn’t have to look at me and that his sheets were always covered in dry semen, which I later found out was because he had a serious porn addiction. I broke up with him but he continued to call me long after the fact.

He’s white trash, plain and simple.

So my ex was a cornucopia of red flags, why I stuck around is beyond me. Just to give you the full picture, he was a 41-year-old balding man with a grey front tooth and his breath stank like cat poop, which could have had something to do with the cigarettes and joints he chained smoked. He hated black people to the point that he would shove a black person in the street for no apparent reason, and acted like a complete douche after one or two beers, literally pissing himself and groping other women. Real winner.

He smells down there.

Toward the end of our three years together, my ex got lazy about showering (sometimes only cleaning himself once a week).  I used to enjoy going down on him, but towards the end of our relationship I never did because of the body order smell and taste (ick).  He either didn’t notice he wasn’t getting lucky anymore, or didn’t care. I even started withholding sex if he hadn’t showered within a reasonable time frame. If it were me, and I knew my hygiene that day wasn’t great or something, I’d either not be comfortable with him going down on me, or I’d give him the heads up (no pun intended). How are guys not aware of the way they smell down there?

He doesn’t bathe.

This guy I was dating didn’t bathe because he had a problem with his furnace that messed up his hot water. At first he was clean but, as he got more comfortable, he showered less. I’ve taken cold baths many times. Yes, no one likes them, but I’d rather deal with a little discomfort than smell nasty all the time.

He also refused to turn his heat past 62 degrees, so his house was freezing. I told him that my clothes wouldn’t come off if I was cold, so he eventually turned the heat up. This made things slightly better until one night I got a whiff of his rear during sex. It was so foul that there was no way he didn’t notice it. He swore he’d shower when I was coming over but at this point I was so turned off that I ended it. NEXT…

She’s got a super gross habit.

I was dating this girl who I was really into. Whole package. Smart, pretty, good job. We moved in together and it was only then that I realized she had a disgusting habit I couldn’t stomach. She had booger farms all over her stuff. She would wipe her boogers on the back of the headboard and the side of the drivers seat in her car. The snot was so thick and crusty. Needless to say, no matter how perfect she was … I just couldn’t tolerate that.

He’s a Mamma’s boy.

I grew up in a family of guys like those from “Jersey Shore,” and should have known better than to date a guy like that. Too much jewelry, too much cologne–self obsessed and self-absorbed. For all his wanting to be treated like a man, my ex was a complete mama’s boy. At 26-years-old he still lived at home, still had his mom cleaning, cooking and doing his laundry for him. I knew within a month of dating him, he was never going to settle down. I’m surprised his mother didn’t wipe his butt for him—hmm, maybe she did!