Unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably received multiple, multiple opportunities to consider the candidates running for the presidential election this year.

In an idyllic world, we could easily learn what we need and want to know about each candidate, make comparisons and then choose a candidate.

This is not an idyllic world. They are not idyllic candidates. And this is not an idyllic election. But it’s what we’ve got, and at least we get to cast our vote. So until then, we each have a job to do: figure out which candidate best represents what we want to see happen in the next few years.

If that sounds like work, it’s because it is. It’s the price we pay for the privilege to vote. It takes time to research each candidate’s position on the issues, to study their past records, to sort through the truth and falsehoods that seem so abundant, to ponder how each candidate would act and react in times of crisis, and come to an intelligent conclusion based on truthful information.

Our decisions should not be based on things like gender, ice cream cones or free phones.

I recently listened to a woman trying to convince her primarily female audience that the reason they should vote for the female candidate was because she’s female. I will say it clearly — I find that reasoning personally offensive. Years ago, I ran for office for a city council position. A local organization hosted a “Meet the Candidates” forum. Naturally, I attended, but was shocked when I walked into the room to find only the female candidates there. This turned out to be an effort to convince all the women in the room to vote for we three women — two candidates for city council seats and one candidate for the mayor’s seat — because we were women. Not because of our positions, our credentials, our values or our past records. No, because we wore skirts, we were supposedly the better candidates.

I had a turn at the microphone to introduce myself. I chose to commit what could have been political suicide by urging the women in the room to do their homework and vote for the candidate that best represented their position on the current issues. Several women approached me after the meeting to express their support for what I did and said. I won that election, by the way. But not because I was female.

And not because I handed out ice cream.

High school elections are pretty much a popularity contest. Everyone knows that, but we still liked being wooed for our precious votes. One year, a senior girl running for vice president of something scooped up votes by handing out ice cream cones with posters blazing, “I scream for ElJean!” No one bothered to pick up a flyer from her opponent’s table; we were all lined up for free ice cream and the chance to scribble our name on her huge “Supporters” poster. I ate the ice cream and checked her box. Easiest bought vote ever.

I hate remembering that, remembering I voted for someone because she fed me ice cream. It’s like a news story I watched a few years ago where a woman jubilantly waved her cellphone at a reporter interviewing her while crowing that the new president was the right man for the job because “He got me a phone! He got me a free phone!”

Four years is a long time to live with a new president. A long, long time if that new president turns out to be someone you didn’t anticipate, someone who says one thing and then does something else. By the time that happens, it’s too late.

So, minimize the surprises. Do the homework. Listen; sort, sift, shovel through the rhetoric; look at histories; pry open the truth; follow the money; listen to your gut. Be ready for this election. It promises to be quite the roller coaster ride.

In the meantime … don’t eat the ice cream.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.