My mate Liz has a theory that while men tend to just have a type, women have a type and a antitype, often the direct opposite of their type. If you get enough glasses of wine in her she likes to ramble on about it with lots of examples. In our group of friends at least it seems to hold true. She also argues that our antitype is usally the sort of man we couldn't put up with for life although we'd love to play with them for a long weekend and that we're inevitably like catnip to our antitype, no matter how bad our luck is with our *real* type. *g*

According to her, my antitype is ex-special forces lads who know how to kill you with a spoon... She may have a point... and, yeah, catnip and yeah, the weekend only else I'd have had to kill them. *G*