Every type is my type....
When a friend tells me about her latest single male acquaintance/workmate/bus driver and declares, "He's just your type!" I have two questions to ask. First, how do you know your bus driver is single? (Jumping red lights = frustrated = not getting any?) And second, what exactly is my type, lady? Because you and I both know I don't have one. No, I refuse to be typecast. There's no 'Tall, dark and handsome for me, please!' When it comes to dating, no type is safe from me - for I have been out with them all! A 6ft 7in basketball player; a bald, heavy-metal-loving music journalist; a blonde high-flying City boy; a squat-living crusty; a depressingly beautiful sound engineer who was 10 years my junior (please don't judge me...) And the list goes on. Now, you could think me insufficiently discerning, or really rather cheap. But I'd prefer to say I'm just exploiting and enjoying one of the most wonderful aspects of being single - that you c...