I’m an artistic single gal looking for that seemingly rare combination of educated / interested in the arts / metro type (but neither gay, nor confused or tormented that he might be), who’d like a couple of ankle-biters in the not too distant future. Someone my height (5’8”) or taller would be a superficial bonus, but then again it didn’t matter for Nicole or Tom (or did it?!) Prince Charmings with foppish fringes on pretty white horses ain’t my thing; I don’t need poetry, late night serenades by moonlight on mandolins, romantic walks on the beach at sunset, fancy restaurants and car door openings. He can be a cute nerdy guy with a big smile driving a beat-up 1990 Ford Laser (the door may not open in that case, like my recently departed noble steed). My Mum reckons I have a thing for pasty white geeky looking guys with brown hair who haven’t seen the sun for a while, and maybe she’s right.
Does that all sound like a tough ask? Maybe somewhere like New York those arty types are thicker on the ground than in Brisvegas, where I call home. Where I’m from, men are blokes, and a romantic overture is spilling your meat pie on the girl next to you at the footy (league, not the soccer type). Maybe I was so busy making my creative dreams happen that I accidentally deleted that “it’s time to get married and have kids” email that most of my friends received.
As I gracefully slide into my late(r) 30s, I’ve accumulated a few Dating Stories while finding the Gilbert to my Anne, the Tarzan to my Jane. Some are mine, others are donated, but they’re all true. Some even have the fairytale endings. I do have a penchant for asking great couples how they came to be. Pseudonyms protect the guilty parties involved.
If you’d like to share a tale, or convinced that we’re kindred spirits and want to take me on a hot date, please write via the contact page. All contributors welcome, including quasi-lesbian-but-totally-straight-nun-like characters who were quick to sign up (for anecdotes, not hot dates).
We all have stories to tell.