by Anita Heiss
On Saturday night, I sent an email to close friends, giving them my list of what I was looking for in a man.
Dear so-and-so,
Do you love me? Do you want to see me happy? I know you do, so help me find a good fella. My criteria for
Mr Right are attached.
With eternal thanks,
Alice xo
I sent it to a small but trusted group – Peta, Liza and Dannie, of course, although they already knew what I was up to, along with a couple of old uni friends I saw occasionally at Cushion. I couldn't really cast the net too wide in case Mum got wind of it. I'd never hear the end of it. Mum still believed, like Dad, that women should be demure and ladylike and men would eventually ask them out. She was wrong.
Within days my friends were sending me details of all sorts of men, telling me that I could cull them to a short list. I didn't actually cull any, recognising that I wasn't really in that strong a position. I'd be able to line up a series of dates throughout the whole of November if I wanted to. Even if I didn't find Mr Right I'd at least be having a half-decent social life. It was summer and nice to be out and about.
The first 'real' blind date didn't come from the spam email I'd sent, though. Rather it was arranged by chance, as I trudged up the stairs with Gabrielle from across the hall, her with her washing, me with bags of groceries. She suggested I go out with her Filipino brother-in-law Renan. I immediately thought of great food every night; a honeymoon in the Philippines; giving painless birth to small children; and the stories I'd be able to tell at the next school reunion. It was all sorted by the time we reached the top step and she called him immediately from her mobile. This was the quickest date I'd ever landed.
Gabrielle was married with two children and spent her days cooking and cleaning. For her, organising my date with Renan was something to get excited about.
'I love the thought of playing cupid for you, Alice.' Gabrielle had never said anything, but I'm sure she'd heard the conversations Peta and I often had as we sat with my flat door open, doing post-mortems on our disastrous dates and ex-boyfriends. She'd probably heard the whole strategic planning meeting two Saturdays before. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole Arden Street block had heard. Next time, I thought, I might ask her in to help. She was obviously a fast worker, and time was of the essence now that I had a deadline for meeting Mr Right.
***
Renan arrived promptly at eleven-thirty am the following Saturday. He was drop-dead-make-youscream- inside-gorgeous with dark hair, mysterious eyes and a small, cheeky smile. He looked muscly even under his loose white shirt. He was slightly shorter than me, but I didn't care. 'Short men try harder!' were Peta's words of wisdom once when a George Costanza look-alike had asked me out and I'd declined.
'What a spunk!' I whispered across the hall to Gabrielle as Renan walked up the stairs. 'Yeah, I married the wrong brother,' she joked. 'Seems so – thanks!' I was grateful for Gabrielle's choice: it left me with this hunk for lunch. I suddenly appreciated that this was one of the joys of being single – the excitement of going out on first dates.
We went for yum cha in Chinatown and even though I generally refuse to queue for anything, I wasn't bothered at all by having to wait in line for twentyfive minutes. The queue moved up the stairs, Renan constantly one step above me, so the height issue wasn't even obvious. The date was off to the perfect start. I could see the wedding already. We could have a Filipino-inspired menu, and Renan could have some lifts inserted into his shiny black patent-leather wedding shoes. Perhaps my bouquet could be orchids or lilies. What was the native Filipino flower? I'd have to google it at work later in the week. My mind was ticking over and I was smiling inside and out. My dream wedding was planning itself.
We were eventually escorted to a table up the back of the bustling restaurant, leaving fifty people behind us still waiting to be seated. He had chosen the most popular yum cha restaurant in the city. Every single table was full, and crowded with food; the conversation chaotic.
The food tasted great but I hardly noticed as we yarned away easily, comfortably, like soul mates: just add water and we were an instant couple. I liked the way Renan took charge and ordered yummy things as the trolleys trundled back and forth. I had no idea what was what.
'I think you'll like this dish, Alice,' he'd say as he motioned to the waiter to put something on the table. His confidence on the culinary front turned me on a little. I liked the way he used my name, too.
'I make the best seafood egg rolls this side of Manila or Beijing, Alice. But these aren't bad.' I smiled at the thought – my kitchen repertoire was quite bland and very Australian in comparison. Yin and yang. Clearly the feng shui was working for Renan and I. We were getting on fantastically. Renan was an Aries, and according to Aria, a union of a Ms Leo and a Mr Aries had great marriage potential. He was also incredibly witty, always an aphrodisiac. I could've jumped him there and then, until I remembered Peta's rule: no sex on the first date – and I'm guessing especially not in the middle of the Dragon Castle restaurant. I had decided before the sweets trolley arrived that I could easily fall in love with Renan.
Then we started talking about our career aspirations. 'I want to be principal of St Christina's one day,' I said, even though I knew they'd never had a layperson in the job in the past, and I sometimes wondered if I'd only landed the job as department head at the age of twentyeight because no-one else applied. The nuns were all getting old and there'd been some talk in the staff room that the principal's position might be opened up in the future. It was a personal goal that I'd told very few people, but I thought I should tell Renan; I was on my third glass of wine and it seemed to me there was a good chance we'd be getting married one day and sharing everything.
'I could see you as principal, easy. You're a strong, capable woman. A fantastic role model. If I had a daughter, I'd want to send her to your school.' He had a sparkle in his eye. 'Though if you were principal, it would mean you probably wouldn't be able to teach, and that would be such a loss to the students.' Clearly, Renan was impressed by my career goals. I dare say he may have had the future in mind as well. Why wouldn't he? I was a bloody good catch. Strong and capable, as he rightly pointed out.
'And what about you? What are your plans?' I was really keen to see how we could make our careers work together.
He dropped a bombshell: 'I've been working for years towards being one of the world's best moonwalkers and male hula dancers.'
I nearly choked on my dumpling. This was his career dream? His personal goal? No, no, no! 'I'm already in the Guinness Book of Records for the longest unbroken moonwalk.' Renan sprang out of his chair and moonwalked from one end of the restaurant to the other, giving a fine display of his skill. How long was it since I'd seen someone moonwalk? Twenty years? I had thoughts of him moonwalking down the aisle with me after we'd said our vows. I reached for the carafe of house wine in the middle of the table.
I refilled my glass as Renan moved from Michael Jackson to generic Polynesian. With a smile that spanned his entire face, he began to do the hula at the table. To my surprise, the predominantly Chinese audience started applauding, which only encouraged Renan to shake his thin hips even more. I thought he was never going to stop. He only ended up back in his seat when a trolley of chicken feet accidentally collided with his left hip. Shit! Would our wedding waltz be a bloody hula?
I wanted to slowly disappear under the table. While I wanted a man to be able to move in time with the music, or at least give it a go, I definitely couldn't date and simply would not marry a man who looked better in a grass skirt than me. Nor would my self-esteem ever allow me to be with a man who had thinner hips! I sadly scratched Renan's name off my list of potentials, even though at that stage it was the only name there. My wedding plans came crashing round my feet.
The date ended with the promise of a hula lesson or two whenever I had time, and I smiled to myself thinking that lessons with Renan might actually be fun.
Gabrielle
was more disappointed than I was that we didn't have a second date, and she was quick to suggest her cousin Ernesto as a follow-up attempt. Ernesto couldn't dance, but had been on Red Faces once and played the spoons. Gabrielle was obviously part of a very talented family. I didn't even have to think about that one, just lied and told her I had a few other dates lined up and I'd call on her during the next dry spell. I'm sure she was aware that my whole life was a dry spell, though, and she looked hopeful that I would be enlisting her services as cupid again shortly.
eight
More blind dates from hell
I was surprised how well I bounced back from Daniel and Renan. I really was giving this blind dating gig a go. So far I'd hooked up with a womaniser and had a nice Chinese meal with an offer of free dance lessons. Going on dates was actually entertaining. I couldn't really complain about not having met Mr Right at this stage, because I wasn't at all bored, or lonely. I continued to chant my mantra on a daily basis: I am deadly and desirable and desperate! Whoops! I am deadly and desirable and delicious!
Not long after, I went on my third blind date in two weeks. Dannie was determined to prove Peta wrong and find me my life-partner, so she had arranged a date with her cousin Charlie, who liked to play pool. I'd been known to sink a few, and Dannie thought we might have some fun together. Charlie and I were to meet at the Marlborough Hotel in Newtown the following Saturday.
Just before leaving for my date, I sought Aria's advice, and was puzzled: 'Leos won't have to travel far from home to find love and romance today, so don't go looking outside your own perimeter.' Did Aria mean my physical or mental perimeter? Was inner-city Newtown too far from home?
I met Charlie at the pub, and the first thing I noticed was his daggy, tan, eighties-style sand-blasted leather bomber jacket. That would have to go for a start. The skin-tight, pale blue jeans, turned up at the cuff, with white Dunlop Volley shoes, would be following behind quickly. I didn't even know they still made those shoes. Or perhaps he'd bought them with the jacket two decades ago. Charlie also wore an akubra hat that pushed down his dark hair, and even though he did the gentlemanly thing and removed it when he greeted me, I wished he hadn't. The hat-hair look didn't sit well with the jacket and jeans.
Dannie had told me Charlie was 'cool'. She seriously needed to get out more and see what today's fashions were. She may have been okay with George's clothes, but I wasn't ready to settle for a man dressed in timewarp garb.
Bad dress sense wasn't the worst of Charlie's problems, though. He had dreadful skin, clearly the result of a bad bout of chicken pox as a teenager.
It's what's inside that counts, I told myself. Our bodies are mere shells for our souls to walk around in would be my mantra of the night. I'd read somewhere that scars just show that you've survived something horrible, that you're strong. Surviving chicken pox wasn't quite the same as surviving a fire or an appendectomy, but it must have been hard growing up with those pock marks.
I should just stop being such a lookist, I thought. I wouldn't focus on Charlie's skin. It was the scars I couldn't see that I really needed to worry about.
Charlie came back from the bar with two schooners.
Don't look at his skin, I thought. 'So, did you have trouble finding a park?' I asked. 'King Street can be a nightmare.'
'I don't drive. I'm car-free, I like to say.'
Oh god, I was going to have play chauffeur to this fella if we dated. That was not an attractive option at all. I wanted to play passenger occasionally.
Charlie read my face. 'I can drive,' he said. ' I just don't want to pollute the environment. I believe it's worth suffering a little inconvenience to save the planet.'
He was right. I felt ashamed of my reaction. I noticed that Charlie had a beautiful smile and dreamy chocolate-brown eyes hidden under the rim of his hat.
***
Over the next few hours we played pool and put money in the jukebox, both choosing some old favourites from Blondie and ABBA. We had exactly the same taste in music – appalling taste, Peta would say. Neither of us knew who was at the top of the charts, and at one point Charlie asked, 'What's an ARIA?' Peta would have been mortified, but I really liked his unashamed pride in not being up-with-it. We were having fun, and the time passed easily.
I was warming to Charlie, no doubt about it. After a few more beers, I found myself making plans. My hairstylist could fix the hat-hair permanently, and we could burn the hat with the jeans and jacket. The shoes he could keep for sport if he wanted to. Dannie, Peta, Liza and I could do a Fab Four makeover. It might even be fun. The full transformation. Surely there'd be some way to take care of his scars? I couldn't stop thinking about or looking at Charlie's skin.
***
My stomach had started making noises: dinner was well overdue. We'd spent the entire afternoon talking and laughing, and I'd had too much to drink on an empty stomach. 'Let's eat!' I said, and we ordered at the bar.
Sitting across from Charlie as we ate, I imagined him post-makeover. His scars were bad, but a dermatologist could probably help. They can do amazing things with lasers these days.
Suddenly Charlie wasn't looking happy.
'You've been staring at my skin all day, Alice. Is it that much of a problem for you?'
'Have you thought about having your scars, umm, you know?
'So my skin is a problem for you.'
'Not as much as your jacket,' I joked, hoping to make light of the situation, and immediately wished I hadn't.
'I'm sorry you find my jacket and skin so problematic, Alice.' And with that he up and left me there; drunk, alone, disappointed in myself. I was shallow. I was a lookist. I had hurt Charlie's feelings. For sure I would've been hurt had someone said that to me.
I am cruel, I thought. I am not deserving of love from anyone, not even crater-face Charlie. I am not deadly and desirable and delicious. My new mantra became I am dreadful! I am a lookist!
I left the bar and blind date #3 behind.
***
The next day, when I'd sobered up, I realised I'd left my sunnies behind at the pub, so went back to get them in the early evening. As I waited for the barman to fetch them from the office I stood at the bar and watched a gorgeous guy saunter across the smoke-filled room. A handful of people were dancing to the sounds of a local grunge band. I'm a retro chick, so the music didn't do much for me.
'Wanna buy me a drink, babe?' Even the pathetic opening line didn't put me off, because this guy just made me weak, standing there in his jeans with no cuff s, and tight black t-shirt, sixpack obvious underneath. No hat. Doc Martens. He looked totally shaggable. I was back to being the lookist again. In no time at all we were slow dancing to the grunge music I hated and I was thinking that I owed Dannie a huge thank you. My blind date with Charlie hadn't been a dead loss after all.
For the next eight hours we danced and drank. We tried to talk over the live music occasionally, but it was too loud. I didn't care. I was having a great time. Then, as the clock was about to strike two, I sensed that something wasn't quite right. I looked around the room, briefly frisked myself to check I was still totally clothed, rummaged through my bag to check my phone and wallet and sunglasses were there, but all seemed to be as it should be. Then it hit me. My wallet was much, much thinner than it had been when I entered, and he hadn't bought one drink all night.
I wasn't impressed with either of us: him for being such a sponge, and me for being such an idiot. I was possibly daunting and desirable and delicious, but definitely a loser.
'I've gotta go,' I said. 'I have to get up early and mark essays tomorrow.' It wasn't a complete lie, I did have some school work to do.
'No worries.' He was cool about it. Let's face it, he'd had a good, cheap night out and managed to cop a feel as well. 'Don't s'pose you can give me cab fare home?' He winked and grabbed my arse as if that would seal the deal. I was gobsmacked. I said bluntly, 'I guess I can drop you off somewhere.'
I was shitty as hell, but I wasn't quite sure
what I was doing, and needed to buy some time to think. 'I need to go to the loo first.' I grabbed my bag and pushed through the crowded room as he turned to the bar to finish his beer. The beer I had bought. What a tool. When I glanced back towards the bar again he wasn't looking in my direction, so I just walked out the front door and escaped without notice, leaving Mr Welfare and a good chunk of last week's wages behind.
