Send Me a Man Who Knows Himself

I don’t care if your spelling is as creative as a Hong Kong toy store as long as you’re brave enough to show me your character. I don’t care if your body is less toned than your principles as long as you have principles. I’m perfectly happy with your blue collar job and your tiny apartment in the middle of suburbia. I’ve met more men I respect there than at book launches and lectures. Send me a man who knows himself, and I’ll show you sex appeal as thick as chocolate and just as delectable.

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I’ll fall in love with the smile lines around his eyes and the grey in his hair because no pair of biceps every loved me and no five-dollar vocabulary ever protected me. I’ve spent much of my social life at academic events held in wine cellars with impenetrable piano playing in the background. I’ve met a few of the most impressive thinkers in my country. They’ve inspired me, but the academic community has taught me a few things about men: the simplest and most unassuming of them are often the wisest. You don’t need to search for impressive men at impressive events. They’re too busy walking their retrievers at the beach.

I love salt-of-the-earth people who take real risks: those that reveal their weaknesses without cringing.

I’ve loved more than my share of spectacular men. The only one who made me feel dead inside had an absurdly high-powered career, and I always felt as though I was kissing a brand instead of a person. I learned my lesson. The next man I chose was powerful for his lack of wealth and influence. My years with him were some of the best of my life.

Sex appeal requires a matter-of-fact handling of your soul. My kind of man says, “This might not be awe-inspiring, but it’s me, and that’s all I have to give. I will give it to you, even if it scares me, because I don’t need to be better than others.”

Show me the woman who falls in love with that man, and I’ll show you a life that’s full of joy.

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