The Seeking Daddy Project Day 45: Type C.

"You're a really good writer," Michael offered.  I can't be sure, but I thought I detected a hint of surprise in his voice.

After I used his eruditeness as material last month, I sent him a text message congratulating him on making his debut in my blog with the link to the post.  I'd been a little nervous ever since to hear what he thought.

"I was waiting for the adjective you were going to use," I joked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable while staring through the little padded hole in the massage table.  I've been half naked in front of this man every month for a year, but this kind of exposure was way worse.

"Y'know, that's not even it," he corrected himself.  "There's more to it than that.  You're..."

He was quiet for a few thoughtful moments as he balanced hot towels on my back.  Suspense hung in the air.  I bit my tongue, wanting terribly to break the silence with a one-liner.

"...you're conversationally contemplative without being intellectually snarky."

"Well, thanks," I said.  It wasn't quite the overt fawning I was hoping for, but hey, I'll take it.

Further into the massage, we were talking about relationships, and he started telling me about a woman he fancies.

"I think the reason I like her is that she's steady.  She's reliable.  She's responsible," he said.  "Her finances are stable, her situation is stable.  I like that."

I wanted to ask him if he was interested in a woman or a minivan, but I decided against it.

"She's a bit older than I am, and she has her stuff together," he continued.  "I've always been attracted to type-A's.  I look for someone who can take care of me."

"Type A's?" I inquired.

"Yeah, I mean,  I'm fun, I'm spontaneous, I'm romantic, I'm great with kids and dogs.  I'm pretty..."

"And humble!" I added.  He laughed.

"But I'm not a planner," he continued.  "I'm terrible at details.  I let mail pile up on the counter for months.  Unless something changes, I'll be working for the rest of my life."

I weighed these attributes in my mind as he continued, "There are two types of guys, well, people really: Type A's, who are go-getters, ambitious, who make the money, and then there are Type B's, like me.  With me, I mean, I'll go anywhere and do anything and we'd have a great time together - but someone has to be responsible.  Someone has to pay the bills."

"Uh...those are the choices?  There's no Type C?"

"Not really," he shrugged.

Someone has to pay the bills.

This struck a chord with me.  Admittedly, I'm pretty much a quintessential Manic Pixie Dream Girl.  I read Victorian novels, quote Shakespeare in everyday conversation, and wear patterned tights.  I bring homemade cupcakes to work at least once a month.  Every random quip is a metaphor for life.  I prefer being called hilarious to anything else, ever.  There's never been a Zooey Deschanel dress I didn't covet.  

Also, recently I've been putting forth a great deal of effort to get my finances back in order.  After many years of un- or under-employment, I'm working towards correcting the errors and misfortunes of my past and save for a decade hopefully filled with far less financial strain.  I don't have impossible dreams - a second dog someday, a new car in a few years, maybe a trip or two back to England.  All of this I'm planning with the assumption that my particular brand of conversationally contemplative charm may or may not be enough to attract a man who's willing to co-sign his financial life with mine for the long-term.  Ultimately, when the time comes, I want a partner, not a caretaker.  I want to be part of a team, not an albatross who occasionally makes spinach lasagna.

I want to be a Type C - a girl who lights candles on a Tuesday evening and makes up cheesy songs for every occasion but who can buy actual cheese and pay her own bills.  I would absolutely hate for someone to dismiss me because I'm more ethereal than practical...or vice-versa.  Both would be tragic.

Can a Manic Pixie Dream Girl also be minivan-esque?

All I can say is, I know at least one who is certainly trying.