Posted on November 3, 2006
I don’t exactly have “a type”. I find the whole notion a bit non-sensical. Beyond the obvious physical attributes (attractive, please) surely we all want to meet someone who is funny, interesting and smart, etc. (I doubt there is much demand for the sombre, dull and dumb.) Besides I’ve learnt, in this town, not to be so picky.
There is one attribute however that I assume most people demand in their prospective partners. And that is a compatible sexual orientation. It’s an important quality sure, but one that, for some reason, I seem to have difficulty finding.
I didn’t find it last weekend. And I’m beginning to wonder if my type is, in fact, lesbian. Or whether I am so metrosexual – so far from the alpha male – that I am considered attractive by the lesbian community. Or even, ironically, so often perceived as gay that my own gaydar is somewhat faulty. In any case, and to quote Larry David, I am a “friend o’ lesbians”.
It started in 1997 with my first girlfriend, who – you could say – played the butch to my femme. She whipped me in sports (though that’s no great feat), she wore her hair shorter than mine and spent an inordinate amount of time with her best friend. She is now, incidentally, a pro-golfer. And full-time lesbian.
More recently I dated a lesbian that I found on match.com. Her profile read, “22-year-old woman…seeking women 18-35.” Remarkably, she said, I was just her type. Needless to say, it didn’t work out. I guess something got between us.
And then, of course, last weekend. And Sarah. And although I’m off the dating scene at the moment I was happy to meet the delightful Scotswoman and publisher of My Little Pony magazine. And, while I doubt her job has anything to do with her sexuality (unless My Little Pony is some sort of horrible euphemism), I was quite surprised when she asked me out and even more surprised when I heard the next day that she was gay.
With the news I began to piece together the evening. And it’s a wonder I didn’t work it out for myself. She did have rather boyish hair, she dressed not unlike KD Lang and, of course, she was into me. There was a point in the evening when we were dancing and she grabbed me by the hand and sort of twirled me around. “I’m sorry,” she said with a laugh. “I’m used to being the lead.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. But now it makes complete sense.