Everyone has a type of mate they prefer to pollinate with. Whether it be based on looks or personality, current interests or future goals -we all get a little tingle in our pants for a certain kind of someone.
So let’s talk about man candy. What’s your flavor?
Rocky Road? This is a fun one. A handsome charmer with hints of a messed up childhood. His dominance brings out your passionate side. Hot and cold, up and down. A real ride of a relationship.
Tip: Arguing non-stop does not equal passion.
Success rate: Average. If you don’t mind getting cheated on eventually.
Tom and Jerry? A man who feeds off the chase. Well-dressed workaholic with conservative parents. Filled with mystery and amped up sexual tension making him almost ADD-esque. Secure but complicated.
Tip: If you’re not sure where he is, try your local gay bar.
Success rate (for women): Very Low
Hitler’s delight? Arian. Physically and mentally impressive. Slightly cold in the emotional department yet curiously attentive. Hard to read. If you have the time and energy to break-through the hard shell, you’ll find a man who likes to cuddle.
Tip: Needy girls not apply
Success rate: Above Average
I used to think my ideal flavor was Bayou Berry.
I’ve always had a thing for real corn-bread covered, under-educated, only eat what they hunt, still use the term ‘city folk’, god fearing, shirtless- but can hardly see their muscles because they’re covered in filth- kind of men.
My family and friends call this special breed “donk”. And to me, the donker the better. Not one who owns a home at the trailer park- that’s too sophisticated. I’m talking a hut on the river kind of man that needs captions when he’s speaking because none of it is really English. While I do appreciate the untamed beards of the Duck Dynasty boys, I still think they are too refined for me. I don’t want my bayou man to be literate enough to be on television. I just want him to take me for a ride on his self-built tractor made of old parts he gathered from the junk yard and whisper sweet nothings, that I won’t understand, through his missing teeth, into my newly infected ear canal.
He doesn’t have teeth because he doesn’t have insurance.
His idea of dentistry is chewing on a straw of hay- once a day. Did I forget to mention he’s really good looking, cut like a fuckin blood diamond, owns not one but two pairs of overalls and makes his own moonshine?
Ya, I know. He’s dreamy.
But when we zoom out of my very troubling fantasy, reality starts to set-in. If I actually ended up with a man like that, I would have to change my name to Amy- so he doesn’t have to feel insecure that he can’t pronounce J or R or S or L or K. Then I would have to marry him in a shotgun wedding only two weeks after we met because no doctor in that town would perform “Satan’s surgery”. Yes, I’m already pregnant because all there was to do around there was play in the beaver dam all day. At our intimate ceremony I would wear cowboy boots and a white jean dress with flowers in my hair from the riverbank. Then, after three years and sixteen kids later, my first dead tooth will fall out.
In my experience, setting a ‘type’ is like setting a trap. If that kind of guy doesn’t work out once, it is probably best to switch it up. Try going black. And no, nappy haired Greek guys don’t count. Either way, hearing “Mmmm Mmmm, guurl, Daayyum! Daaayuum! Yu all kindsa fyne” sounds like something I could get used to.
Special Announcement! I will be hosting a contest to find The Best Break-Up Story, so get your baggage ready, the heavier the better- there’s no extra charge or weight limits on this! The winner will receive a free signed copy of my book, Axing My Exes! Look out for my next blog post for details on the contest. May the sluttiest person win.
High five…line it up! Did you feel that connection? Sexy.