Like some single folk, I have an idea in my head about the type of person I'd like to meet for romance. Not necessarily a hard-and-fast prioritized list, per se. It's more like certain qualities I'd like in a woman, qualities that catch my interest. Men and women alike have their individual ideas. They may be something like this (exaggerations for comedic effect):
For the ladies:
He's gotta look good. He's gotta have six-pack abs. He's gotta be confident. He's gotta have a respectful distance from his baby mommas. He's gotta be active in his kids' lives, but not slave to their every want. He's gotta have money and a nice car. He's gotta be a "gangsta with a heart of gold". He's gotta be tough enough to "knock a sucka out", but tender enough to cry in a manly way the first time he changes his baby's diaper. He's gotta be able to dance, but not dance better than the lady. He's gotta have a great sense of personal style. He's gotta be respectful of ladies, including his woman and his own momma. He's gotta be able to fix stuff, and look cool doing it.
For the guys:
She's gotta have a bangin' body (BOOM!). She's gotta have money. She's gotta like what I like.
(Yep, men and women are different. In other news, water is wet.)
So, wading through all that, I too have my ideas of the qualities I seek in a lady (hint: it's a bit more than the stereotype I listed). So, imagine my surprise when I saw those qualities in a dream.
I was at a fairly large college campus, there to buy a school t-shirt or other souvenir. Suddenly, I met her. Let's call her "Rachel" for sake of argument ("Why Rachel?" It's a pretty name.). We hit it off immediately. She was naturally funny, in an dry-humor way. She was sharp as a tack, and keenly observant of her surroundings. She was wearing navy blue slacks and a white shell top with blue trim. There were ruffles front/center of the top (which may or may not be in style today). She was maybe 5-foot-4 and athletically built, like a long-distance runner.
She worked at the college in some upper-level administrator capacity, which freed her up to get away from her desk and walk around a bit during the day. So, we found ourselves walking and talking. She was wearing work-quality pumps (maybe a two-inch heel), so she could walk for a while without hurting her feet. As we walked, we could see evidence that the semester was in full-swing. Students, faculty and visitors were everywhere. She was acquainted with most folk we encountered, and had a unique encouraging word for each of them.
As we talked, we realized we had a friend in common. This friend taught at the college, but he was also working on his doctorate at the same institution. He was taking an advanced literature class as part of his program, but not doing well. "Rachel" had an inkling he was about to fail the literature course. A large part of the failure would stem from a personality conflict - our mutual friend had a barely-controllable temper, and was maybe hours away from blowing his top on some relatively minor disagreement with his instructor.
"Rachel" had an idea to help our friend keep his cool and keep his place in the doctoral program. The idea involved us shredding a few reams of computer paper. We walked to her office, where we could get the paper in question. Outside her office door, "Rachel" had this huge steampunk-style shredder. If Queen Victoria had a shredder back in the day, it might have looked like this, pipes and levers and gears all over. Even at rest, this beast was leaking oil, fuel and other substances. Anyway, "Rachel" fired up the machine, it belched diesel smoke, and we started shredding.
As we worked, we talked about our respective pasts. In my spirit, I could sense she was really sweet and genuine. She had a heart for people, and a real concern about the way the world was turning. She wasn't scarred by past hurts, but fired up about what her future could become. We talked about friends who had died at young ages, our respective parents, and future aspirations. It was a mellow time.
Funny thing was, as she shredded paper, she didn't get dirty at all. No bits of paper dust clung to her clothing. No shredder oil clung to her fingertips. Even when the shredder clogged from the top, and she took a knee to pull at the jam from the bottom of the shredder (which didn't make sense), she stayed clean.
Hanging out with "Rachel" was pleasant, the type of pleasant that seemed like it would never end.
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