Dear Algorithm, I Have a Type.

Apparently I’ve decided it’s time to stop being subtle.

So, dear algorithm:

Please send me the nerdy, simpy, golden-retriever boys with provider complexes.

Muscles optional.

Appreciated, certainly. But optional. 😏

I want the nerd who can disappear down a rabbit hole explaining his favorite game, campaign, character build, obscure piece of lore, or whatever hyperfixation currently has him in a chokehold.

I want enthusiasm. I want personality. I want someone who can make me laugh and actually hold a conversation instead of materializing in my inbox with the conversational prowess of a damp paper towel.

But I also want the simp.

Not the performative kind who announces how submissive he is every six minutes.

The dangerous kind.

The one who pays attention.

Who remembers what I like. Notices when I mention wanting something. Gets an embarrassing amount of satisfaction from making my life a little nicer.

The kind who sees me excited about a new book, game, bottle of wine, tattoo idea, plant, or whatever shiny object has captured my attention this week and immediately develops a tiny problem:

He wants to get it for me.

Oops.

And then we arrive at my personal weakness:

the provider complex.

There is something delicious about a man whose instinct is simply, “I want to take care of that.”

Not because I need him to.

That distinction matters.

I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. What makes it attractive is knowing that he likes doing things for me.

He likes being useful.

He likes making things easier.

He likes seeing me happy and knowing he had something to do with it.

And once I realize just how much satisfaction he gets from providing?

Well.

I am a professional bad influence.

It would be terribly irresponsible of me not to encourage him. 😇

Give me someone I can tease about how obvious he is. Someone who gets that wonderful little rush from earning my attention. Someone who can banter with me about video games at noon and be happily funding my latest obsession by dinner.

I don’t want a wallet with a pulse.

I want the person attached to it.

The personality is what makes the financial dynamic interesting. The inside jokes. The rituals. The anticipation. Learning each other’s habits. Watching “I like spoiling her” slowly evolve into “Oh no. I REALLY like spoiling her.”

That’s the good shit.

So yes, algorithm.

Nerdy. Simpy. Golden retriever energy. Provider complex.

Bonus points for muscles.

Surely that isn’t too much to ask.

Kthanxbi. 🖤