Type

Turns out, I have a type. I always thought classifying guys into one lump category was a prejudice, shallow, and unnecessary way of looking at the opposite sex. I would hear story after story of girls dating and marrying boys who were “so no their type.” I started thinking that even if a girl thought she had a type, she would probably marry someone who was opposite of that, so what would be the point? Why in the world would anyone base anything on a “type?” Well, as ironic as this seems, I have a type. This may shock you, but it’s not the tall, rugged, muscular cowboy I always pictured myself with. It’s not the “bad boy” who rides motorcycles and throws around a random curse word when he gets upset. It’s not even the spontaneous guy who plans random trips and goes dancing on a whim. Nope…he’s completely unexpected. He’s good. He is polite and pleasant and conservative. He is mellow and grounded and stable. He’s tall and loves the outdoors and he’s skinny. He loves sports. He’s funny and nice to everyone and has great hair and dark eyes. And the best part? It’s not just the current one. It’s been the past four. Ah…life is good.