You know how it is sometimes when the *perfect* man appears? I mean this in a most superficial manner of course, since once you get to know anyone they can no longer be perfect. So, obviously, I mean someone you meet briefly – I say less then 10 minutes of conversation. Course it usually takes them about three words to turn me off. What can I say, I’m picky.

Anyhoo, the source of the pontification is the fact that, even though I did make a list enumerating the characteristics of the elusive *one*, many many years ago, the shock of the nooooooooooooo-don’t-get-out-of-the-subway-until-I-give-you-my-number reaction was how spontaneous it was and how he really wasn’t my “type”.

So MinCat is riding the train downtown, the lord knows where to, with BikerBoy, a visiting friend who is holding forth about something. Midsentence in walks man under discussion. Very tall (why is it that when a guy has to duck to get into the subway it gives me butterflies?) – that one was expected. He was also white, very white (bringing to mind the vague corpse-like tone to BSW’s skin, *shudder*), not lanky at all. Just a layer of pudge, you know? And on someone that big….. *sigh*

In all the times I’ve pictured the guy I’d pick out of a catalogue, he’s always had cropped hair, probably straight, though it’s so short I probably can’t tell. This one had curly brown hair, that lovely shining chocolate colour, and it wasn’t long, but it wasn’t cropped close to his head either. I have no idea what colour his eyes were, because he was too tall for me to get a look, cos I was sitting down.

He kinda looked like Elijah Wood meets John Mayer, which is soooooooooooooo not my type! I suppose what amazes me is just that shock of recognition I had, THIS is the perfect guy. With THAT hair. And THOSE jeans. And THAT asymmetrical jaw. He was reading a book too. I made sheep’s eyes at him for about ten minutes and then he got out at Times Square. I almost leapt out of the train waving my phone number on a paper napkin.

Anyway, I think the reason I started this post, apart from wanting to relive the gorgeousness of him tee hee hee, was because it struck me that that same day, I saw another guy, classically GORGEOUS, and I’m talking objective perfection here. And while I thought he was so good-looking, I had no wish ALL to stare at him or smile or make eye-contact. And I certainly had no impulse to throw my phone number at him!

Why is this? Maybe it’s because I don’t trust beautiful men. I feel the clichés about them are often true; that if a guy knows he’s hot, if he knows he’s gorgeous the other sides of his personality don’t develop. He won’t have a sense of humour and he will have a sense of his own superiority. And everyone knows MinCat is the superior one ;) It’s the interesting ones that get me. It might have something to do with my recent discovery that all the sexual attraction in the world will not make up for a lack of intellectual turning on. I cannot in all honesty think of a single good-looking male I know who isn’t just a little bit of a pompous prick. This includes the ones I’m related to and the intelligent ones. Of course when I say good-looking I mean people who are outstandingly yummy, you just can’t not call them good-looking.

I think sometimes that in a fantasy world I’d love to be with some drool-inducing hunk, but in real life maybe I’d rather be with a non-extreme person who induces extreme feelings in me.
Is it just me?