I seem to do OK finding people to go out with, but it's been impossible to find someone who is just right.

Sometimes I think it's good to be choosy, because then I don't settle for something less than I want. If I know I can't deal with a smoker, is it wrong to not consider dating one? I used to think, "Of course not, you like what you like."

But as I grow a little wiser, I realize not all deals -- or relationships -- are meant to be broken by unhealthy habits or lesser annoyances.

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Now that I've found a guy who seems quite right, I'm trying to put in perspective his faults that may not match my ideal vision. He doesn't smoke, but he is human and, like me, has a few sticky points.

When a great guy like Jack comes along, captures my heart and then things are feeling settled, I for some reason try to change him -- or shall I say, improve him.

Somehow, he did fine without me for 30 years, but I am certain I know how he can do things better. It may be something mundane like the way he holds onto a trashcan that is so dirty it could probably walk out the door on its own, or how he insists on leaving the water on while he brushes his teeth.

Then I watch my mom telling my dad what to wear, or more likely, what not to wear. And when I catch myself wrinkling my nose at Jack's choice in attire, I wonder if I'm my mom in training, or just another helpful person lending a hand to a fashion-challenged guy.

My friend Joanna thinks the impulse to improve your lover is more about teaching him your needs, but who really needs a guy to wear matching clothes? I also think most of us spent enough time in school without dating someone who insists on being a teacher, or even worse, a second mother.

I think the desire to change someone comes from the struggle to adjust to relationship life. It's difficult sharing your single life with another individual who had a single life of his own. Yet just because I'm used to doing things one way, and he is used to another, doesn't mean one is better.

One of the best features of a relationship is getting the other person's perspective. With the right person, even the "right now" person, I get to see my life through the eyes of someone I love and respect -- the good and the bad. While it may be annoying to get tips on making macaroni and cheese (my specialty), it may not hurt to try it a new way. And within reason, offering advice on modifying certain superficial aspects of his life -- like the idea that a worn-out, hole-ridden couch from college gives his place a "rustic" look -- may not be too harmful.

I also have some compromising to do, regardless of his pluses or minuses. In the past I may have put too much emphasis on what didn't fit, when I should have concentrated on what did.

Now I realize that the list of what I want in a guy may not have the final say. I may have to forget about checking off all the "requirements."

Maybe he doesn't like to go out as much as I do, but he can play tennis with me for hours. Maybe he undoes the top button of his pants (Al Bundy style) while he watches TV, but he'll write me the best love letters I've ever gotten.

They say love is blind, but honestly it doesn't have to be. My vision is just fine when he leaves the toilet seat up and tells me the bathroom's "all ready" for me. And I notice when he forgets to introduce me to someone he runs into on the street.

But I see even more clearly when he calls me to make sure I got home safely in bad weather, when he sits through a chick flick that I've been wanting to see, and when he keeps me laughing, no matter what the occasion.

He may not be perfect, but he may be perfect for imperfect me.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous 20-something who knows how to make the most of being single. Her column appears every other Thursday.