Typo.

Despite strenuous arguments, denials, and emphatic statements to the contrary, I have had to admit recently that I do in fact have a type.  Not a physical one exactly, although most of the men I fancy do remind me uncannily of either Jason Bateman or a young Davy Jones, (shut up! it's the dark hair, dark eyes combination, okay?).  I do find a guy with brains, sensitivity, a cracking sense of humour and a healthy dose of arrogant charm more than a little intoxicating, but it isn't exactly about personality traits, either.  What seems to attract me like a death row inmate to a loose-moralled appeals judge is not the handsome guy, the cheeky guy, the smart guy or the funny guy...it is the unattainable guy.

You know the guy I mean; he's the one who, despite your best efforts, seems determined not to test the friendship.  The one who affectionately refers to you as his 'Best Friend,' or 'The sister I never had.'  The one who sends you a smiley face, then liberally hands out wink emoticons to all two hundred and fifty eight of his other female Twitter followers and Facebook friends.  You could carry on an entire Skype conversation with him, wearing nothing but a smile, and he would still regale you with details of his naughty night out with the deceptively sedate looking school teacher he met on E-harmony.  My mother sagely advised me as a teenager that, when it came to women, men loved a challenge.  Not for them, the loyal, dependable, readily available girl who hung on their every word.  The chick who promised them the least would invariably end up being the one they wanted most.  I don't believe this is true of all men, any more than I believe that all men love football and hate quiche.  Furthermore, I don't believe that it is an exclusively male behaviour quirk.  How could I, when it informs my very own choices? 

You could stick identical twins before me, each boasting the same dark eyes, the same cheeky smile, the same irresistible Buddy Love type humour and bravado, the same leg-opening sensitivity, and I would still go for the one cruising Facebook chicks on his Iphone.  And now I know why. 

The challenge of it!  Fabulous as it is to be wanted by anyone, there's still no better ego stroker than snaring the creature who you had to chase through miles of rough terrain to get a clear shot at.  The one who put up the biggest fight is the one whose skin feels the most exquisite wrapped around your own on the living room floor in front of a roaring log fire.  I realise now that I've been choosing men like this my entire life and although I know that it's a pretty self-defeating practice, I can't seem to stop, and I have to wonder; is my need for gratification going to end up costing me long term satisfaction?

Am I the only woman who does this?  Let me know in the comments...I'm begging you.  Lol.