A Cruel Sea

23 Nov

flickr image by Mike Baird

My mother has always been full of helpful advice on dating. She’s informed me time after time again that I’m not likely to meet the man of my dreams on a Saturday night in “one of those drunken nightspots you like so much.” According to my mother, I’m more likely to meet The One while shopping at the supermarket.

I believe there are a number of holes in her theory.

Firstly, the only man I’m likely to get chatting to while patrolling the supermarket aisles is the security guard. Clearly because he assumes I’m not actually there to purchase anything, but more likely hoping to get myself a five finger discount.

Secondly, when I hit the supermarket I’m usually not looking my best. My food shopping takes place a couple of times a week. Often this is in the early evening when I’ve finished my gym work out and am ducking in to purchase a quick frozen meal. At times like these, my hair is plastered against my head in an unflattering sweat cap, my face bright red with exertion, my sizeable arse exploding out of my tight gym pants, while I’m filling the supermarket with the undeniable aroma of body odour. Somehow I doubt potential husbands would come flocking.

One of my other favourite times to shop is after a big night out. This is when my matted hair smells of tobacco smoke and spilt tequila shots from the night before, my face is covered in flakes of dried mascara and I’m scuttling towards the potato chip aisle in order to make a hurried fat-laden purchase before my raging hangover causes me to hurl.

Thirdly, I’ve been undertaking my own supermarket shopping for nigh on ten years now. Never in that time have I gotten speaking to an attractive specimen of the opposite sex. The closest I’ve come is telling one or two uninterested male cashiers about my mundane day at work. It really is disconcerting to watch their eyes glaze over. Especially as they did ask.

I think my mum has real life confused with a Sandra Bullock movie.

Another one of my mother’s favourite ‘uplifting’ relationship quotes is the age old little chestnut, “there’s plenty more fish in the sea.”  Well, Mum, if that’s the case, I’ve definitely been using the wrong bait. Perhaps instead of a handheld rod, I’d be better off investing in a trawling net.

However, my years of dating failures lead me to suspect that the man-oceans in Sydney have been over-fished for quite some time. Most of the fish left are gropers and mullets. Either that or they’re too young and have to be thrown back.

Surely there has to be a delicious barramundi out there somewhere? 


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