An overgrown thatch and a smelly snatch
Writing about disastrous dates, miserable men and disappointing relationships can get depressing. It's not all bad. I do have a few good memories.
Simon was the second man I dated after becoming single again. Milk Man was before him. Probably best not to go into any detail about Milk Man. That one needs a blog entry of his own.
Back to Simon.
Being new to the dating world was a weird experience initially. I was strangely popular in those early days. After launching my dating profile I received contact from a different man about every 10 minutes for hours. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet, but by the end of my first day I was number 3 in the top 100 women in my age group. I was rather chuffed about that. I guess it was the combination of a rare and flukishly good photo of me taken that day, coupled with the fact that I was fresh meat in the post-marriage online dating world. A world which few leave once they join. Years later and many failed romances and re-launches of my dating profile I realised that it's the same men (and I presume women) scrolling past you on the computer screen year after year. Some really adventurous souls change dating websites, usually to avoid an old date, or to avoid embarrassment of years of failure on the one website, but only those willing to settle or those who have transitioned (see my earlier post) ever actually get out. We're all too set in our ways. Too opinionated. Everyone is a leftover. Women who have ended their marriage coupled predominantly with men who have been left is a combination destined to fail. Nonetheless at that time it was all very exciting for me and I was full of naive hope.
It was the end of my first week on the dating site. I'd had my date with Milk Man on Wednesday night, and the weekend was now here. I was feeling pretty good about maintaining my spot in the top 100 through the week. Confident enough to send out a kiss to an attractive man named Simon. I gather he thought he'd scored a date with someone special too because he was quick to ask if I was available later the same day. No game playing there.
Simon's profile was sporting about 8 photos of himself doing outrageous things which I assume he thought made him look normal but fun. I later learnt he was neither. Years later I can also confidently say that men with lots of photos in their profiles usually think pretty highly of themselves. There was a photo of him jumping from a house roof into a pool. Mad! One of him singing at a karaoke night, with a Hawiian shirt on and a colourful lae around his neck, throwing his head back with his mouth wide open, mic in hand. Super MAD! There was the always popular one - the home handyman photo which consisted of a photo of him carrying a pile of wood at the entrance to the local Bunnings Warehouse. There was actually a photo of him when he was 18 years old when he had a full head of curly hair. I wasn't sure if this was to show women what he was capable of breeding, or whether he was just reminiscing about the good old days. There was a final photo of him sunning himself by a pool. That's the one that caught my attention. I was fresh from a 14 year marriage to one of the hairiest men alive, so it's understandable that a smooth hairless chest was something I secretly wanted to touch.
I remember it was a stinking hot Saturday afternoon the day we met. Simon suggested I come over to his house first, and from there he said we could walk to grab a glass of wine in a nearby bar. It had been a busy day with children at home and I was running late getting ready. I'd wasted a huge amount of time trying to work out what to wear and I suddenly found myself with no time left to shower. Horrible dilemma. Be an hour late and shower, or half an hour late, skip the shower and double up on deodorant? I chose the latter. He'd never know.
So I arrive at his house - a small, modern, arty place tucked behind a grand Queenslander that I later found out used to belong to him. A bit weird, but everyone to their own. His wife had left him for the next door neighbour, and rather than going to the effort of finding a new house in the same area, he'd subdivided his property and kept the land at the back of the yard for himself. A new family lived in his old house. I never asked if his ex-wife was living next door with the neighbour.
Anyway, back to the greeting. His front door opened into his kitchen, and that's where he greeted me, amongst a pile of dirty dishes. It took me about five seconds to decide that he was gorgeous. Not standard handsome, but good-looking nonetheless. Tall, well-built, super casual. Deep, deep drawling voice, by far his most attractive quality. No shoes. Nice feet. He made no apology for the filth in the kitchen which for me just added to his charm. Phew! Simon. 6 foot 2 inches, jeans, white t-shirt, broad shoulders, smooth tan arms, flat gut. He invited me in and asked if I'd like a wine. Said I was welcome to have one at his place before heading up the street.
We took our seats in the lounge room and sipped our drinks and got stuck into the small talk. I found him so attractive that it was hard for me to concentrate on the conversation. Could have had something to do with the fact that every time I finished speaking he'd maintain solid eye contact for a good few seconds before he'd collect himself and start to speak.
Simon was well ahead of me in the dating world having been single for a few years and, you'd have to assume, a few romances under his belt. But for me, a virgin to this arena - that eye contact thing hugely exciting. My heart was thumping so hard it was about to blow out of my chest. Awkward conversation continued...eye contact was held for longer. Eventually we both just stopped talking and stared.
We never made it out for drinks that day.
And yes, the lack of showering and preparation did come back to bite me. I've showered for every first date ever since. Lesson learned.
It didn't work out with Simon. He had 3 of his own children, and he was one of those freaks who was looking for family number 2. Obviously that required someone who was willing to breed. With 5 children of my own that definitely wasn't me. His need to conform and be part of a nuclear family was an obsession for him. This time he'd get it right goddammit. We actually remained friends, and continued to see each other casually for years whenever the need arose, until recently, when I moved too far away to continue contact. He always said it was a shame we hadn't met 20 years earlier. As I got to know Simon over the years, I was kinda glad that we hadn't.
Simon was the second man I dated after becoming single again. Milk Man was before him. Probably best not to go into any detail about Milk Man. That one needs a blog entry of his own.
Back to Simon.
Being new to the dating world was a weird experience initially. I was strangely popular in those early days. After launching my dating profile I received contact from a different man about every 10 minutes for hours. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet, but by the end of my first day I was number 3 in the top 100 women in my age group. I was rather chuffed about that. I guess it was the combination of a rare and flukishly good photo of me taken that day, coupled with the fact that I was fresh meat in the post-marriage online dating world. A world which few leave once they join. Years later and many failed romances and re-launches of my dating profile I realised that it's the same men (and I presume women) scrolling past you on the computer screen year after year. Some really adventurous souls change dating websites, usually to avoid an old date, or to avoid embarrassment of years of failure on the one website, but only those willing to settle or those who have transitioned (see my earlier post) ever actually get out. We're all too set in our ways. Too opinionated. Everyone is a leftover. Women who have ended their marriage coupled predominantly with men who have been left is a combination destined to fail. Nonetheless at that time it was all very exciting for me and I was full of naive hope.
It was the end of my first week on the dating site. I'd had my date with Milk Man on Wednesday night, and the weekend was now here. I was feeling pretty good about maintaining my spot in the top 100 through the week. Confident enough to send out a kiss to an attractive man named Simon. I gather he thought he'd scored a date with someone special too because he was quick to ask if I was available later the same day. No game playing there.
Simon's profile was sporting about 8 photos of himself doing outrageous things which I assume he thought made him look normal but fun. I later learnt he was neither. Years later I can also confidently say that men with lots of photos in their profiles usually think pretty highly of themselves. There was a photo of him jumping from a house roof into a pool. Mad! One of him singing at a karaoke night, with a Hawiian shirt on and a colourful lae around his neck, throwing his head back with his mouth wide open, mic in hand. Super MAD! There was the always popular one - the home handyman photo which consisted of a photo of him carrying a pile of wood at the entrance to the local Bunnings Warehouse. There was actually a photo of him when he was 18 years old when he had a full head of curly hair. I wasn't sure if this was to show women what he was capable of breeding, or whether he was just reminiscing about the good old days. There was a final photo of him sunning himself by a pool. That's the one that caught my attention. I was fresh from a 14 year marriage to one of the hairiest men alive, so it's understandable that a smooth hairless chest was something I secretly wanted to touch.
I remember it was a stinking hot Saturday afternoon the day we met. Simon suggested I come over to his house first, and from there he said we could walk to grab a glass of wine in a nearby bar. It had been a busy day with children at home and I was running late getting ready. I'd wasted a huge amount of time trying to work out what to wear and I suddenly found myself with no time left to shower. Horrible dilemma. Be an hour late and shower, or half an hour late, skip the shower and double up on deodorant? I chose the latter. He'd never know.
So I arrive at his house - a small, modern, arty place tucked behind a grand Queenslander that I later found out used to belong to him. A bit weird, but everyone to their own. His wife had left him for the next door neighbour, and rather than going to the effort of finding a new house in the same area, he'd subdivided his property and kept the land at the back of the yard for himself. A new family lived in his old house. I never asked if his ex-wife was living next door with the neighbour.
Anyway, back to the greeting. His front door opened into his kitchen, and that's where he greeted me, amongst a pile of dirty dishes. It took me about five seconds to decide that he was gorgeous. Not standard handsome, but good-looking nonetheless. Tall, well-built, super casual. Deep, deep drawling voice, by far his most attractive quality. No shoes. Nice feet. He made no apology for the filth in the kitchen which for me just added to his charm. Phew! Simon. 6 foot 2 inches, jeans, white t-shirt, broad shoulders, smooth tan arms, flat gut. He invited me in and asked if I'd like a wine. Said I was welcome to have one at his place before heading up the street.
We took our seats in the lounge room and sipped our drinks and got stuck into the small talk. I found him so attractive that it was hard for me to concentrate on the conversation. Could have had something to do with the fact that every time I finished speaking he'd maintain solid eye contact for a good few seconds before he'd collect himself and start to speak.
Simon was well ahead of me in the dating world having been single for a few years and, you'd have to assume, a few romances under his belt. But for me, a virgin to this arena - that eye contact thing hugely exciting. My heart was thumping so hard it was about to blow out of my chest. Awkward conversation continued...eye contact was held for longer. Eventually we both just stopped talking and stared.
We never made it out for drinks that day.
And yes, the lack of showering and preparation did come back to bite me. I've showered for every first date ever since. Lesson learned.
It didn't work out with Simon. He had 3 of his own children, and he was one of those freaks who was looking for family number 2. Obviously that required someone who was willing to breed. With 5 children of my own that definitely wasn't me. His need to conform and be part of a nuclear family was an obsession for him. This time he'd get it right goddammit. We actually remained friends, and continued to see each other casually for years whenever the need arose, until recently, when I moved too far away to continue contact. He always said it was a shame we hadn't met 20 years earlier. As I got to know Simon over the years, I was kinda glad that we hadn't.
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