Last night, H and I went to Taco Tuesday with two of our buddies, Ryan and Brian. All you can eat tacos and two for one drinks. Muy bueno!
Of course, all we talked about was men and women and how we'll never even remotely understand each other. Then someone asked, "What's your type?"
"I don't have a type," I said.
"You have to have a type," Ryan said.
"Helen, do I have a type?" I pointed my Tecate Light at her.
"No, she doesn't have a type."
Brian and Ryan rolled their eyes.
"No, seriously, none of my exes look remotely alike. If you lined them all up you'd think I'm a very confused person."
And this is true. My tall, young, handsome dark haired last ex had NOTHING in common with the short, slightly rotund, spectacle wearing divorcee ex that came before him.
"It's all about their brains. And whether or not we connect."
Brian cleared his throat. Loudly.
"Okay, think Terminator. You've got the goggles on. You're scanning the room for the right target. You zoom in and boom! There it is. What are you focusing on?"
"Huh?" I said with a mouth full of taco.
"Let's do it now. Everybody look around this room. The gun's to your head. If you had to go home with someone, who would it be?"
All four of us scan the bar.
I glaze over the tall blond guy in the baseball hat. Barely notice Dude and Dude-r, the goatee twins, staring up at the basketball game. Then I lock in on the bald guy with the nice eyes and perfect teeth.
So much for connecting.
So, what's your type?
3 years ago