I like minimalism.

When I see homily clutter I like it.

I like rock music with big heavy guitars.

When I hear quiet melodies over plucked strings, I’m entranced.

I prefer curvy, buxom women.

When I see a petite girl something stirs in me.

I like order.

I’m happiest in the midst of chaos.

I am tidy and orderily.

When I see litter or mess, part of me is taken with it.

I am punctual.

When others are late I envy their abandon.

I like things to match.

When I see clashes of colour, I revel in the impact.

I see beauty where it is obvious.

When I discover hidden beauty my heart explodes.

I do not fit.

Or perhaps the box is just the wrong size?