Are there any single straight men left on this planet? part 4

Yeah like clockwork the guys stopped chatting. They stopped calling too. I was only shinny and new for a few days then the new car smell wore off.
Deep sigh
Oh well. I knew it couldn't last forever. I am just not that type. I am not anyone's type so it would seem.
So much for Freud. He said he'd call me yesterday. Well yesterday came and went and nothing. See I really do pick the wrong guys. But hey, what was it I was expecting from a hot young twentysomething anyway?

Well if this was a chick flick or a romance novel then there would be a hunky hero waiting to sweep me off my feet. Hmmm let's see; what kind of situation would we like to put me in to meet this hunky hero?

It's a rainy afternoon and your heroine is hanging out in the book store. Dressed like she just walked out of an episode of Sex and the City. (Maybe something like what Carrie wore in Cock-A-Doddle-Do which was episode 48 season 4) the patterned jeans with the pink shirt. And while balancing a very heavy stack of books and magazines, spot the most beautiful man ever. At this point of course the books would fall. The hunky hero would be dressed in dark jeans and a grey tee that clung to his body. He would have chocolate brown eyes and pale skin, short dark hair and perfectly shaped lips. (yummy) He would lean over and pick up the dropped books handing them back with a weak smile. Then of course the hunky hero would be standing a few people behind our heroine in the line up to pay for the books. Maybe we over hear a few teenaged girls gooing and ohhing over the hunky hero. Then just as our heroine has finished paying for her books/magazines the hunky hero slids up beside her, asking her to join him for a coffee. They chat, they laugh, they fall in love over bad lattes and their mutual love of words. We then find out the hunky hero is a photographer/painter and he's actually read all of our heroine's blogs/articles for the last few years and has been crushing on her all this time without knowing who she was. Did I mention he's eight or nine years younger then her.
Or they could meet in an art gallery, infront of a large painting the hunky hero pointing out the faults with the piece leaning over her shoulder a drink in hand, then introduce himself only to be the artist. And have him ask her to model for him sometime.

Yeah, that's my dream way of being swept off my feet. Another deep sigh. It could happen. You never know.