Type Personified

I didn't think I had a type.

I mean, I had preferences, of course. Hair colour, hand size, height, etc. But I never put them all together and made an actual image, comparing it to every man I met. I didn't want to limit myself. I also didn't want to picture someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with and never finding him.

My Type Personified walked into Metro on my lunch break this afternoon. I was lazily creating my salad from the bar, and nearly dropped a ladle-full of chick peas. I've never mentally undressed a man that fast in my life. One second he's in his black trench coat, the next - boom. Buck naked and panting in my face.

Our eyes met. He was on his phone, but still managed to do the 'down up once-over' thing you guys have all mastered. I hate to brag, but I've mastered the reaction move. The trick is to turn around and walk away just as he's looking back up, so his eyes can meet your butt at the perfect time. Then you strut your stuff. And damn if I didn't strut everything I had at that moment. It was grand. Problem is that I forgot to get a fork from the salad bar. So I had to strut back. Kind of anti-climactic.

So I found him. He does exist. He's most likely an income-obsessed prick with a lot of baggage and mother issues. But damn, with a body like that, you don't need much of a personality.