I am not one of those girls who could ever be accused of not knowing what she wants – I am driven in terms of my career, honest with my friends and predictable with my taste in men.
Having a “type” has its benefits – I’ve learned (through deviating from the type – once was all it took) that sticking to it tends to be the best way to ensure my own romantic happiness. *Shrugs* I guess I just know what I like.
Unfortunately, knowing what you like comes with its own set of challenges. It makes actually meeting your type a rather difficult affair – provide me with a smart (this is my number 1 criterium. Sapiosexual is a thing), articulate young man complete with vaguely curly dark hair, a tall-and-slim stature and a bit of nerdy-sex appeal and I am sold. Couple that with some pretty blue eyes and a cheeky grin and it’s game over for me. Irrespective of whether I am their type.
So, this weekend, when I travelled to a gathering of like-minded people in a less-than-exciting part of the country and met (well, re-met, if we’re completely honest) a certain guy… Sold. Unfortunately, due to his general pretty-ness and my abject terror, I was… Subtle. So subtle. I think. (I used to flirt without trying, now I couldn’t do it even if I DID try!) At the time, I figured that this was the best [read: safest] response. In retrospect, that might not have been the best choice.
Note to self: when meeting a smart, lovely*, attractive neuroscientist, it is important to overcome the swooning in favour of much more productive behaviours BEFORE returning to your respective parts of the country.
*Any boy that runs for charity, plays with his niece, voluntarily cleans up other people’s mess, bakes cookies, volunteers for charities (different to the ones that he runs for) and is supremely helpful qualifies unreservedly as lovely. Maybe even with a capital L. It also helps when he’s straight.