THE DATING GAME

ONE WOMAN’S QUEST FOR TRUE ROMANCE

Most of the time being single is a perfectly reasonable way of making your way in the world. Sometimes, it’s even preferable: you get to eat what you want, travel where you want, be financially responsible for yourself, move cities at a moment’s notice and, most importantly, sing songs from Hamilton: An American Musical to your dogs without fear of judgment.

But every now and then, it’s crushingly lonely. New Year’s Eve as the countdown is drawing down 3 … 2 … 1 (you know the moment); the singles table at a love festival/wedding; planning holidays full of delights and noone to share them with, and on the occasional warm Tasmanian night, lying on the beach near my home looking up at the stars. It would be great to have a person to snuggle into for the every-now-and-then.

After a four-day Christmas festival with far too much food and a reasonable amount of family tension, I found myself in the back seat of my parents’ car, driving to the airport for my flight home to Hobart. Mum was telling me all the reasons why we couldn’t stop in at my friend’s cafe on the way home. I felt like I was 17 again, and a magnificent daydream started to play out in my head.

Like Muriel Heslop after being dumped by her horrible friends in the green grotto, for the first time in my entire feminist adult life, I imagined a man saving me from this not-so-huge dispute. “This time next year, I’m going to be travelling around India with a big, gentle, beautiful man and we’ll have our own goddamn Christmas. He may or may not have a beard. He definitely smells nice.”

Dreams of us wandering around sacred tourist sites, eating delicious curries and going to Bollywood movies in exotic cinemas got me through the rest of the car ride. I made it my New Year’s resolution to go on five dates in five days.

#1 HOT YOUNG TRADIE, 28

Hot Young Tradie, as it goes, is the brother of a dear friend of mine. I’d always been attracted to him, but had never told my friend because he’s a 186cm tradie who’s almost 10 years younger than me. I’m hardly the first – anyone with a pulse would be attracted to this guy.

As my dating experiment began, I was out at drinks where Hot Young Tradie and his brother happened to be.

“I’m going to do five dates in five days, do you guys have any nice friends you could line me up with?” “Me,” says Hot Young Tradie. “What about me?” “Are you serious?” “Yeah, I’m serious.” “Um, OK? Yeah. Will we have a drink?” “Nah. We already know each other – let’s have dinner and see a movie.”

We exchange numbers and though I’m as excited as hell, my head tells me he’s just being nice.

I wake up to a missed call from him at 1am that night. In daylight hours, we arrange to meet for dinner. That’s when I begin packing it. What are we going to talk about? What do I wear to a date with a 28-year-old? Is it a real date? Will there be time to do my nails, wax my legs, shave my underarms and get a haircut? And, it’s 2018, I’m a 37-year-old feminist, why are those the things I’m thinking about?

We meet at a restaurant in Hobart, and yep, this is a date. Hot Young Tradie uses the actual word several times, he flirts pretty outrageously. It’s really fun. He’s funny, sweet and … did I say fun? It’s all fun.

Conversation flows and we laugh about the differences in dating and sex across our age gap, which is something I can’t stop bringing the conversation back to – I’m sure it’s interpreted as a super sexy move …

Movie theatres have become unromantic in the seven years since I’ve been on a date at the cinema. There’s practically a coffee table between each seat. No accidental brushes of legs, no accidental hands bumping into each other while grabbing popcorn. You pretty much need to communicate via bat signal to keep the flirt up. Which we do. Then the movie finishes.

I’m panicking – what happens now? Hot Young Tradie asks politely if he can walk me back to my car. He does. I pretty much jump into my car and speed off into the sunset, shyness engulfing me. By the time I’m heading to bed with regret – (for what, I’m not sure – should I have gone for the pash, lined up another date?) there’s a text from him saying he had a great time and good night. Kiss emojis.

I still have enough espresso martini in my system to write a slightly suggestive text back. No response. I guess I misread that one.

#2 DON JUAN, 35

Don Juan comes my way from that venerable dating service known for making dating as simple as swiping right or swiping left – Tinder.

I swipe right on Don Juan because he’s gorgeous and doesn’t seem to be Australian. His pictures show an adventurer – there’s one of him in the Swiss Alps, a backpack on, smiling serenely at the camera. Another shows him on a sand dune, another relaxing in a field of flowers.

His profile talks about being an ambivert, open to all life’s possibilities, including sex and chocolate. I like sex and chocolate. Let’s do this!

“Let’s meet on the corner of Elizabeth and Collins streets and go from there,” he suggests.

Suddenly, I’m wary. The perfect English, the sexy photos, meeting on a street corner on a Sunday afternoon? Am I about to become a victim of a rip-off scheme? Will I be crying on A Cur

rent Affair in a few weeks about all the money I lost and the broken heart I’m mending?

“No, I don’t have much time that night, sadly,” I reply. “Meet you at the Brunswick Hotel at 5pm?” Done. Again, I spend the entire arvo on grooming. Hair straightening, washing and ironing what’s now become my date outfit, plucking various hairs from untoward places, moisturising every inch of my body and on and on and on.

Don Juan arrives at our date wearing shorts and a T-shirt – it’s as if he’s just come from the gym. It’s the guy from the pics on Tinder though, and if he were dressed for an actual date and not a picnic, he might look straight out of a catalogue from a fancy store in Barcelona.

We each have a drink and sit very close to each other, our legs touching.

After an hour, I feel as if I have been interviewing him. By the time I’m ready to move on to meet friends for a prearranged dinner, I could tell you his life story. He could tell you I’m a journalist whose side dream is to be a doctor. I’m not sure he asked me a single question.

I am pretty sure he’s not interested. Still, he sends a nice text later that night.

#3 BONESAW MAN, 41

Bonesaw Man is what we refer to in the dating world as Magnificent On Paper. He owns a successful business. He doesn’t have a mortgage on his house. He’s tall, handsome, friendly and he has made an effort with his clothes. He’s renovating his house with his own hands. And we have mutual friends who speak highly of him.

“So, why,” a voice in my head screams, “is he still single? Why is he still single?”

I interviewed Bonesaw Man in my day job two years ago, had the hots for him then and thought he was way out of my league. When I put a post on my Facebook page looking for dates, he was the first person to ask me out. You could have knocked me over with a fossilised feather.

Bonesaw Man has a deep, seductive voice and he actually makes real conversation. We go relatively deep rather quickly, loosened up with martinis. We share war stories that only single people in their late thirties/early forties have in this digital age of Tinder.

After dinner, he invites me back to his house to check out the renovations. Being open to anything – for the dinner party stories, of course – I go to his house. We end up having tea after a tour of the renovations. When we sit down at his kitchen table, I discover why he might still be single at 41, despite having all the things going for him.

There’s a big, shiny bonesaw on the table. He’s a hunter, so it’s for slicing through deer and wallaby, but all I can think about is being sliced up and put in the downstairs freezer, so I beat a hasty retreat.

He sends me a lovely text later that day and the next day we agree for him to come over and check out my house (in need of renovation).

Last night I saw him on Bumble, his profile is saying he’s three years younger than he is.

#4 LONG-DISTANCE ARCHITECT, 36

Long-Distance Architect lives in Launceston, so as soon as I see his picture and hear those magic words from a colleague “he’s an architect”, I’m fantasising about having a lover that I only need to see on the weekends at our shared investment property over at Evandale.

I pretend I have business to attend to in Launceston and schlep up there for the day.

It’s 34C and we arrange to meet at a cool little cafe in the city centre. He arrives harried, nervous and very hot. Still, he’s dressed beautifully (like all architects in every romantic comedy I’ve seen) and conversation flows freely after getting off to an awkward start.

I sense he’s not at all interested in his life changing or welcoming a woman: he’s got his business, his sport and children he visits interstate.

Long-Distance Architect has lived in Launceston his whole life and it doesn’t seem like anything but university in Hobart has made him want to change that.

When our rendezvous is over and it’s time to go, it couldn’t be more awkward. Both of us go our separate ways without so much as a handshake.

He’s the only date I still haven’t heard from.

#5 DIVORCED HEALTHY DAD, 47

I’m not sure Divorced Healthy Dad and I would come across each other any other way. Follow Your Heart Introductions is a new, Tasmanian old-school dating service. It’s completely offline, for people who don’t want their personal stuff on the web.

Follow Your Heart Introductions’ clients are all policechecked and spend an hour or so with owners Kellie Richards and Damian Saunders, talking about what it is you’re looking for. It’s a great way of figuring out what you want (someone kind, fun, smart and curious) and what you don’t want (a heavy drinker who doesn’t look after his kids).

Divorced Healthy Dad rings me old-school style to arrange our first date. He works in health land and somehow ends up telling me all about gastric bands. When I tell him I’ve literally written the book about gastric bands, he doesn’t ask me anything more about it, just keeps talking.

He suggests we go to a fancy Hobart restaurant and makes a booking. I like this, that someone thinks I might be worth spoiling. When I get to the dinner, he’s in great shape, clean and tidy, and really friendly.

Still, as the night goes on, and the drinks are drunk, I feel like we’re from separate worlds. He’s been raising kids for 20 years and surfing. His deal-breaker is ‘women who get too drunk’. He schools me about eating carbs. He’s a really kind-hearted bloke who I’m sure will be great for someone else.

He texts a day later and I text back promising to get in touch when I’ve got a wetsuit.

My dating mission turns out to be the first New Year’s Resolution I’ve ever kept. I’ve discovered that chemistry is a pretty rare thing, and if I’m feeling it, someone else is more than likely feeling it, too. My confidence with men has increased a little – two of the five dates were men who already knew me and still wanted to date; three of the five dates were blind dates and didn’t vomit or run for the hills upon first glance.

Not sure I’ve found my Christmas travel companion for 2018, but I’m in a better position to keep the search going.