Sitting on the patio with a cup of decaf and listening to leaves rustle as Sadie checks the perimeter of the yard. The moon is a perfect crescent that looks like something should be hung from it. For some unknown reason the term “Prince Charming” came to mind. As I sip my coffee, it occurs to me that Prince Charming really isn’t my kind of guy. 

I’m not attracted to the perfectly polished type with proper poses and charm. I prefer much more grit in my man. I want someone who has been through some messy times and came out ahead. I like wit, humor, and of course some good looks (who doesn’t?) but I prefer above all a man with a story. I can’t tolerate a complainer. The narcissist phase has ended (once was quite enough, thank you). 

Not that any of this really matters. It’s not like I’m on The Coast Bachlorette or anything. My calendar is full, but none of it with dates.  I just find it odd how the older my taste changes. Certainly for the better next time.