So I seem to fancy absolutely everybody, but thankfully don’t act upon my every thought. And I guess this makes me, what I call, a Silent Slut.
Although I do find most men (and women) handsome in one way or another, I am no hippy. I judge Olivia Palermo when she puts a rare foot wrong in the fashion stakes and am the first to question why on earth anyone would fancy “the hoff”, but I really do believe that everyone is attractive in their own right. And I think I first realised this when I clapped eyes on Phillip Schofield and automatically wanted to drop my pants.
From this point forward, I’ve never gone for someone because of their veneer smile or perfectly preened facial hair. Instead, I’ve always dated the unconventionally gorgeous rather than the Brad Pitts of the world. Perhaps that’s because I’m not one of the gobsmackingly beautiful Angelina’s of the world, or perhaps because I think with my lugs rather than my lust. If someone can quite literally stop me breathing from laughter, they’ll always win over those who catch my breath because they’re tonker than Thomas the Tank.
Although undoubtedly a horrible generalisation, I’m not too sure I could trust the hottest of totties for longer than a snog in a club. Perhaps that comes down to my own insecurities, or maybe it comes down to watching my friends fall in the face of fitties. Either way, I think many are missing out on the good stuff because they quite simply, judge a book by its cover.
Take the new romance that has sprung off the back of being a celebrity between the talented Pro Green and MIC’s Millie Mackintosh. I judged them when I first spotted them in a glossy magazine. One, because I “knew” that if she’d met him growing up in Hackney as opposed to now, a UK rapper hanging out in Mahiki, she’d wouldn’t have gone near him with a polo stick. Thinking back, I might’ve judged too quickly. Perhaps Stephen Manderson enjoys jam and crumpets? Perhaps Camilla enjoys a fag and a bottle of voddy behind the bike sheds? Who really knows? And who on earth am I to judge? They’ve obviously found a common ground and have decided to take a stroll.
So give that person who might not “fit the bill” a shot. After all, you never know what lies beneath. I always thought my “type” was a rather large, well spoken, rugby player. How wrong was I?
So although I’ve worked out that everyone on the planet is a catch, why do I still grapple with the issue of working out my own strengths? All I seem to see when I look in the mirror is a slightly dodgy nose, a spattering of freckles and an awkward walk. What I should see is another catch of the day. Someone smack me in the face please and remind me that I, like everyone else, has that something that someone’s looking for.
The only thing that doesn’t have that special something?
But that’s just common sense.