You know how they say that we all have a type?
Well, up until recently, I’d say that I didn’t have a “TYPE.”
This is based on the fact that a few people I’ve dated have been anti-type.
How could I pidgeonhole myself into a type when I CLEARLY date anti-type from time to time.
Luke was anti-type.
He was tall and rail thin, with a crazy metabolism powered by Type 1 Diabetes.
I compared him to Squidward from Sponge Bob.
Then there was Dave, who was anti-type simply by virtue of his 4 advanced degrees in Psychology.
Boy was THAT a MIND FUCK!
Just recently, I was showing Barbara some of my conquests (which I can’t post here because DUH, they’d kill me) when all of a sudden I realized, OH MY GOD. I HAVE A TYPE.
Barbara looked at all the photos and was like, “Yeah, these are the kind of men you’re interested in.”
Older than me.
I have NO IDEA why this is my type other than IT’S SEXY AF.
My dad is 5’6” tall and Middle Eastern.
My birthfather however fits the type but I didn’t meet him until I was 22 years old, long after I’d established THIS as my type.
Oh, the mysteries of the world.
Am I genetically imprinted to be attracted to the men I’m attracted to?
All I know is this. . .
I could probably walk Barbara into a crowded room filled with men and she will be able to point out the men I’m attracted to.
Because. . .
. . .I have a type.