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I hate to admit it, but I’ve always had a “type”. Countless times, I’ve fallen for dark-haired guys who are a little bit rock’n’roll, somewhat sensitive and very, very tortured. Kind of like a Michael Hutchence-Jon Snow dream combination.
So what was I doing with a giant crush on sporty, cheerful Nate*?
Seeing as my last relationship with a formerly drug-addicted, post-rehab philosophy student had ended, I was thinking that maybe my “tortured artist” type wasn’t working out for me.
It was time to think outside the dating box.
This is where Nate came in. He was as far from my "type" as possible. He was a blonde courier whose main interest was being physically fit. That was about it. Sure, he was nice and funny, but certainly not the cultured intellectual I was used to. There was no way he was going to visit the art gallery with me, for example.
To be totally honest, the main reason why I was interested in Nate was because I'd happened to see him with his shirt off, and he had a six pack. The rest of him was muscly, too. I decided that, for once, I would follow my other instincts and date a guy mostly because he had a "good" body, and because I was physically attracted to him. Maybe cerebral connections were overrated.
Again, Nate was a likeable guy, so dating him wasn't difficult. But for me, my main interest in him stemmed from his buff body.