Today, I had a relationship with my burrito. I mean I literally grew emotional over my burrito. And I looked over the table, to this girl also deeply engrossed in her burrito. As we silently communicated our intense admiration for this newborn, infant-sized sack of meat and cheese, I realized we could be really good friends. I don’t know — I always find it’s the little things like that that communicate so much about the type of person you are. Whether you dog-ear pages in a book. How much you pack for a trip. If you enjoy spicy food. I didn’t make these rules, but I abide by them. Here are some things that inexplicably say a lot about what kind of person you are:

If You Willingly Wake Up Before 11 a.m.

We can’t be friends. I’m not even totally sure time exists before then. Waking up causes me both physical and psychological pain. On days when my 10:10 makes me aware of the world’s existence before noon, I become unfathomably angry at all “morning people.” Those mutants. But then again, this is coming from a girl who once said, “Six o’clock? There’s one of those in the morning too?” in all seriousness, so take from this what you will.

If You Drink Tea

It’s like a hug from the inside! The tea you choose also matters. Basic Lipton vs. loose leaf dragon rooibos? It’s quite a comprehensive spectrum. I can dig a man who enjoys a good earl grey but not one who drinks chamomile. There’s a difference between a man who can be vulnerable every once in awhile and a man who has a vagina.

If Your Favorite Book Is The Da Vinci Code

Oh, and you love Dave Matthews Band, too? Shocker. You also probably extol the genius of Jodi Picoult. And the last book you volunteered to read, not counting 50 Shades of Grey which you skimmed beach-side, was The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You genuinely enjoy daytime television, and may or may not have ingested a Lean Cuisine within the last 72 hours. You assume Pitchfork is a website for farm tools.

If You Dislike Tom Hanks

What — do you also dislike laughter and fun? Seriously, what kind of disturbed human being would ever insult Tom Hanks. When Tom Hanks speaks, the clouds part and an angel gets its wings. When Tom Hanks speaks, Daniel Radcliffe weeps softly against a windowpane. When Tom Hanks speaks, Homer writes an epic poem about it. Disliking Tom Hanks is on par with disliking Jack Nicholson’s work or Meryl Streep’s performances. There’s just no apology profound enough to come back from that. All other forthcoming opinions from you are automatically invalidated.

If Your Fingernails Are Clean

And hands in general. If you have long dragon lady nails, you’re either from the ’80s or truly ghetto. Cleaned and trimmed fingernails have long been a universal sign of fastidiousness. My parents, who grew up in Communist China, used to get their fingernails checked by their teachers in school as often as we recited the pledge of allegiance. If they weren’t clean enough, they would literally get spanked and sent home, but I’ve never quite paralleled their level of anal retentiveness in that arena. I’m not asking for the American Psycho level of Patrick Bateman’s manicured tips with biweekly applications of nail enamel strengthener, but not looking like a hobo is generally a good thing, I think.

How You Treat the Wait Staff

If the bill is less than $200, and you do not leave at least a solid 15-percent, I take serious issue. This topic’s personally a little touchy considering my parents own restaurants in which I’ve gotten to know the immigrant wait staff — people for which tips comprise their entire livelihood. But honestly, stinginess is just not attractive. How a person treats the wait staff, or any person in a subordinate or service industry position, says a lot about their character regardless of their own socioeconomic position. If the service is actually spotty though, which I quantify as asking more than thrice for water refills or similar requests, then I concede to some subtractions. Admittedly, I once received so many unanswered breadsticks refills at Olive Garden (the sole reason for going there,), that I left the waitress with an infographic depicting the directly inverse relationship between “time spent waiting for service” and “amount tip” written in mustard on the table top. I swear, I’m not a needy restaurant-goer, I just don’t believe it counts as “endless soup, salad, and breadsticks” if they only approach your table twice in two hours.

If You Ever Forget to Eat

What, did you forget to breathe too? Forgetting to eat is like forgetting a limb. Except for warm puppies, which are own my personal heaven, there’s nothing I like more than food. Literally. I take food very seriously, as you can probably tell by my sultry relationship with my aforementioned newborn burrito baby. Dirty talk to me includes the whispers of sweet “Philly cheese steak” in my ear. If you ever give me a cupcake, I must not be held liable for possibly falling in love with you. My spirit animal is a red velvet cake. I am a fatass and I make no apologies.