Man, oh Man

 

TIRED and a tad emotional from visiting Cambodia’s torture centre and killing fields, I arrived back in Brisbane this week to find a swag of men waiting for me…well on my dating site at least.

First there was Marek, a 38-year-old Slovakian whose photo has him hugging a big dog. He ticked the first box – an unusual name (and he appeared to like big dogs). And possibly the second – that he came from an unusual country. His English was a bit broken (he said he wanted to meet the “women” of his life) but I could forgive him that, given it does appear to be his second language, and let’s face it, my Slovakian isn’t all that crash hot either. So I replied to Marek in the positive. I haven’t heard back from Marek since and am a little concerned he does actually think I AM Secret Agent Natascha from Minsk, as my profile jokes, and not plain old Miss Chris from Brisbane. Upon reflection, Marek did also mention in his profile that he wanted to “stay in Australia”, so he may also be struggling with the fact that Natascha from Minsk may not have a permanent visa either.

Next victim was a good looking man who called himself Slow and Steady. Slow and Steady, 37, seemed to be the Captain to my Tenille. He seemed sensible, measured and did I mention, good looking? He may have been a tad too sensible, as he said the only risks he takes are when he tries a new beer. I had hoped he was joking, so again, I replied in the positive. Now, if Slow and Steady was any more slower in his reply, I’d be checking for a pulse. Put it this way, it’s been almost a week and several countries later in my world, and still no sign of this slow poke. Maybe he’s still trying to decide on which risky beer he’s trying next?

While waiting for Slow and Steady to respond, I took some initiative and contacted Leo, 37, who describes himself as a “very energetic father of one who likes chick flicks”. Could he be the perfect man? The one, I wondered? Unfortunately, Leo didn’t think I was as smashing, and replied in the negative. I’m trying to tell myself it’s because he lives on the Gold Coast, and not because he doesn’t think I’m utterly lovely.

I also contacted Single Fit Guy, 41, who said he doesn’t “have a beer gut”. Although, in retrospect, he’s probably too sporty spice for me, so I’m not altogether crushed that he hasn’t responded.

And then there was today. A man who calls himself the Merchant of Venice (really?) contacted me. Given he lives on the SunshineCoast, I reckon he’s stretching the truth a bit there. Apart from calling himself an “optamist” his profile reads like this: “I ain’t looking to block you up, shock you up, analise you, catagorise you, finalise you, all I really want do is, baby be friends with you.” He also states he can “sometimes be a bone head who can sleep with the light off”. Merchant of Venice is 49, so one would hope he can sleep with the light off. But I can’t date a bad speller. Even if he is an “optamist”.

So, it’s back to the drawing board I go. As they say in the classics, there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Or should that be Merchants in Venice?

 

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