What are “types”?
My friends will tell you that I have a “type” of guy: short, younger, mop of blond hair, lithe.
But “types” are what our minds tell us we want.
When we stumble into another person, we’re often surprised by their presence.
Take D. for instance: When I first set eyes upon him I saw his feet first, then moved up his legs, past his belt, to his chest, on up to his shoulders, and then, then I landed on his handsome face: a smile which was broad and capped by a pair of sparkling eyes, framed by a close-cropped brown beard.
I asked, “Have a lot of people told you, you’re handsome? Well they should, because you are.”
That was one month ago.
Last night D. and I had dinner together at a northern Italian restaurant here in Charlotte. We both had an amazing time. While walking back to the place I smoke cigars, I mentioned I had no plans for Thanksgiving.
D. said, “Harlan, wherever I am for Thanksgiving, you’ll be there too.”
Yes, I will D.