I discovered my ‘type’ and I’m not sure how to feel.

Okay, so I’ve been slouching on the couch for the past hour or so, trying to find something to write about. It was only as I sipped my Jelly Baby juice, (which in reality is just Apple and Blackcurrant squash topped with lemonade. Try it, it tastes of childhood.)  I remembered a conversation Ian and I had last week.

I was stalking celebrities when he looked over my shoulder.

‘You make me so paranoid about how I look.’ He smirked.

‘What?’ I said, still half dazed after looking up from the screen.

‘Well, all these celebrity crushes you have…’


‘They all look weird. Like, I don’t get how you find them attractive. Do I look as weird as they do?’

And that’s when I realised, after all these years, I do have a ‘type.’ I never thought I did, I thought I just fancied who I fancied, and that was that.33400428_2177566988938902_9054212898770911232_n But, turns out, there is a pattern. In fact, I could even make an advertisement.

Do you have a long face, dark hair, and light eyes?

Are you at least 6 foot?

Are you at least 30?

If you answered yes to all of the above,  I’d probably have a crush on you.

I don’t even know, I’m sure there’s probably some deep psychological reasoning behind why I fancy men at least 10 years older than me. It’s strange, and made me question myself for at least a day before I went back to stalking people.

And it is weird. Benedict Cumberbatch and Tom Hiddleston? (But only as Loki. That wig does something to me, I swear.)  Why? My mum likes to joke about how ugly they are, which I think is just rude. Plus she married a man 20 years older than her, so if anyone’s to blame for my ‘bad’ taste, it’s her.

I came to the conclusion that it’s okay though, because Ian looks nothing like those guys. And although I watch clips of them every day, and spend a lot of time daydreaming,  I chose him, and he’s a huge part of my life.

So I guess there’s hope for me yet.

PS. Sorry for that soppy ending, it was very hard to try and give this post a clean finish. It won’t happen again. Also forgive my really bad paint skills in the photo.


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