That line arrives almost every week. Usually it sits in the very first paragraph of an enquiry, before a date has even been mentioned: "I'm really not the type for this, but …"
I enjoy reading it every single time. It tells me more about a man than his job or his address ever could. A man who apologises before he asks has manners. And a man with manners does not need to explain to me why he is writing.
I spot the others just as quickly. Anyone who opens with "So, what does the fun cost?" is not the type I mean anyway. That sounds harsh, but it is simply sorting. An apology is the best calling card a gentleman can send ahead of him.
What fascinates me is who hides behind that sentence. Self-employed men who have not had an evening to themselves in years. Men who find themselves alone again after a long time and wonder how any of this works these days. All of them thought about it for longer than they would admit before writing.
Ladies say it too, by the way. When they sit across from me for the first time, in a personal conversation, without a partner and without any rush, it comes up sooner or later: I'm not really the type for this. I smile and order coffee. Surprisingly often, those are exactly the women who later radiate the most calm.
Here is what I have taken from it: the type for this does not exist. There are men who know what they want and men who are still finding out. I get along well with both. The man who worries me more is the one who is entirely sure he is exactly the type. He usually carries a finished picture in his head, and it rarely fits an evening that is meant to go well.
All it takes to begin is a plan: date, time, telephone number and the exact location including the floor. Everything else we settle the way it should be settled, calmly.
Discreetly yours,
Lena