So what exactly IS your type?

Earlier this week, my wife (mish-mash mousse) had an appointment with our housing site manager to recertify for another year. (If you don't know, we live in federal housing, but hey! It's OK. It's quiet, clean and we have a roof over our heads.) Our manager, "Doris," is a crass, miserable, rude, relatively unattractive middle-aged gal who smokes like a chimney, never smiles and doesn't give a care about anything, except to hate everything. By her own admission, she hates children, cats, and oh yeah, people on the whole. This confession has been made repeatedly to almost everyone she encounters. (I don't hate people; I just think that many need to get a clue and stop being so stupid!)
During the re-cert process, which was overseen by a county assistant, "Jill," Doris needed to verify information on our food stamp amount, and asked MMM who to contact at the county assistance office...

MMM: Well, good luck getting a hold of him. He never answers his phone and he seldom returns written correspondence.
D: Oh, is that "Larimie"?
MMM: No, it's "Norris."
D: It's too bad it's not Larimie. Everyone likes Larimie! You'd like him! He's always after me to go out with him. He works out, and he's a real sharp dresser. Yeah, he's a real hottie. He looks just like George Clooney. You know, he keeps asking me out, but he's just not my type.

Yeah, like you're truly that lucky.

Jill, who personally knows most of the employees in the assistance office, retorted, "So, have you told him that yet?"
Mish-mash had a most difficult time keeping a straight face...