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Last Saturday I had brunch with a friend of mine. As we waited in the lobby for our name to be called, I noticed that not only were we standing in a sea of happy couples, but that their offspring had all of us in the four-foot-and-over category seriously outnumbered. As I cracked a few jokes about fearing a toddler uprising, I noticed that the nice-looking man waiting nearby had overheard us and was chuckling.

The three of us exchanged polite small talk until a three-year-old blond girl came running up and into his arms, followed shortly by a much taller and pregnant blond, whom we could only assume to be the wife. After a few moments of nuzzling in Daddy's arms, the little girl began wrapping her long pink winter scarf around his head. She was very deliberate in styling the accessory just so, and her dad was a great sport, chatting all the while and appreciating her efforts.

As I watched the sweet daddy-daughter moment, I became disturbed that the more ridiculous the man looked, the more attractive he became to me. It was just so incredibly endearing that this grown businessman-looking guy wasn't flinching an inch as his daughter used him quite publicly as a mannequin for her latest dress-up game.

This is just the latest scenario I've noticed in a strange pattern signaling a shift in what I find attractive. It all started a couple years ago when I watched a guy I was somewhat interested in baking in his kitchen during a party he and his roommates were hosting. When I asked what he was making and he replied, "Fluffy white frosting," (for the cake he'd already made), I was sold. I found it oddly attractive that this engineer had quirky specialties in the kitchen. Jerry McGuire may have had Renee Zelwegger's character at "hello" in the romantic comedy a few years ago, but this guy and his trusty mixer had me at "fluff."

My friend Claire recently admitted she's attracted to the man on the Jimmy Dean Sausage commercials, explaining, "He looks kind and reliable, as if he'd make a good, loyal husband." I was relieved that me and my odd attractions aren't alone and fessed up to a few of my own latest turn-ons: older men who gallantly offer the crook of their arm to their wife, younger men putting barrettes in their daughter's hair, guys who share excitedly about what God's doing in their life, the grandpa-type at my church's Christmas party last weekend who animatedly read the children a story, husbands who talk glowingly about their wives of 10, 15, or 20 years.

This all makes me think of the cover line I see on a lot of magazines today: "What's Sexy Now." Inside there are pages chock full of all the shoes, haircuts, hobbies, and actors the editors deem attractive at that moment. I have a feeling if I looked back at what I've deemed "sexy" over the years, I'd notice a marked shift from eye candy to character issues. Sure, I still enjoy seeing Matt Damon or George Clooney in a romantic flick, but give me a kind-hearted man who'll happily schlepp my groceries and keep me laughing for years to come to go home with after that movie any day.

It's not as though I was looking for a shallow man with rugged good looks in my younger days, it's just that the older I get, the more I realize what's really important. Seeing how marriages have practically become disposable and being someone who wants a life-long mate, I've had to rethink what I'm looking for in a potential husband. Temporary pleasures—excitement, good looks, lots of money—aren't exactly the kind of things you build a forever on.

So, I'm learning to look a little deeper, to appreciate someone who loves his daughter enough to let her make him look a bit ridiculous in public, who knows how to fend for himself—even in the kitchen, who seems sturdy and reliable (even standing next to some sausage links!). Someone who'll keep me guessing, and growing, and laughing—now that's the man for me. Part of me is glad I've stayed single long enough to realize that abs of steel and a well-defined chest are way overrated, and that the condition of the heart lying beneath is what's really sexy—or not. I'm beginning to suspect that Mr. Wonderful won't be found at a party or trendy coffee shop, but at my church's nursery, where he's happily volunteered to play with the kiddies—and to serve God. Now that's attractive.

Camerin welcomes your feedback and brainstorms at: SinglesNewsletter@ChristianityToday.com

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