My type

My brothers Art and Cy, me and my birthfather

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.


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.


Big chested.

Facial hair.


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?

Who knows.

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.

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