I read this post by Jill at Feministe, and realized that – holy complacency levels, Batman – I do not have a ready composite of traits I love to whip out at this precise occasion, and haven’t had one for a while.
Is there something wrong with me? Am I not in charge of my life somehow?
I mean, yeah, it’s on the record that my ideal man is Jean-Luc Picard. But he’s off kicking ass across the universe somewhere, and I’m stuck with, well, reality.
So then I sat down and, forcing myself to think extra, extra hard (so hard that the roots on my blond hair started coming in quicker – bmmm tshhh), and came up with this:
Someone who loves what he does and does it well, who smiles at random children on the sidewalk and has the sort of shoulder I can easily rest my head on. Also, it helps if he’s had enough crappy jobs while young to both tell funny stories about later and to figure out who he doesn’t want to be.
Is that enchanting? I can’t even tell.
Natalia A. 