The perfect guy

Want to know the recipe for my perfect guy?

He's smart, with one graduate degree at least. Preferably from a prestigious school.
He's fit-there's something very hot about toned biceps and a flat stomach on a guy who is a bit more than twenty.
His hair droops fashionably over his forehead. Brown is nice but silver will do in a pinch.
He's got an amicable relationship with his ex wife-but they aren't confidantes. And he adores his kids, spending lots of time with them because he can, not because the court told him to.
He radiates sex appeal, and can whisper Baudelaire and John Donne and Cole Porter into my ear at a restaurant in such a seductive voice that it makes me drop my menu.
He will not mind knocking down a few idols, but is faithful where it counts.
He's vulnerable without being needy, successful without being cocky, and he finds a good debate almost as hot as a trip to Victoria's Secret.
And he'll be working in Sweden or the Seychelles half the time-reunions will be much more fun that way, and I'll still have time to myself.

Am I going to find this paragon anywhere? Not too damned likely.

What I fear is that, if I pay too much attention to the template that resides somewhere in my unconscious, I will miss the real item when he comes along.

Perhaps he won't have those great degrees-or much hair. Possibly his six-pack might be closer to an eight-pack. Maybe he won't even have heard of Baudelaire. And his sex appeal might be something that grows on me rather than blowing me away at the first meeting. Maybe he'll (scary thought) want to spend a lot of time getting to know me.

Another possibility-if I'm not careful, I might be taken in by a pale facsimile-and not take the risk of hanging in there with the real one when he makes an ass of himself. After all, it will be my turn next.

Internet dating makes this kind of error oh so easy. Guessing at people's motives. Misreading their words. Hanging on when it's hopeless. Pushing guys away when there might be a chance.

The only thing I'm sure of (well, almost) is that I can't see a long term relationship with a guy who has "golf" in his moniker. Is this just a failure of imagination on my part? Why do they keep contacting me?

This apple can stray a little-but she's not going to fall very close to a tee.