There are a certain newspaper and magazine's listing, which i read only for the personal ad. this is not because I am desperately looking for man - or at least, not in the personal classified section columm. i have nothing against the principle, but I find more romance in the traditional method: Meet men at the party, man asks for your phone number, go out on date, drink some wine, have a kiss, go out on more dates, have some sex, go on little holidays, man is now called boyfriend, meet each other friends, watch 'My Big Fat Greek Weeding' together, have a row finishes things off for good, cry but lots of chocolate, watch 'My Big Fat Greek Weeding' alone, cheer up and go out, meet man at the party, man asks for number......
So, I read the personal ad without any intention of replying to one. I supposed, I would reply if an advert ever suggested the very fellow for me, but they never do. The are always wrongly phrased - and that why peoples mistakes. Classified ads have a lot to teach us about waht makes people attractive.
Sometimes, the listing in those magazine's could make me laugh. Just look at thee way they put it the words. If you were looking for a man, and leafing through descriptions of the species, which three opening words would guarantee your immediate romance interest? I know - every man is different - but I suspect those words would no be 'Fizzy - haired religious eccentric' I admire this man's honesty, but wonder if he couldn't have kept at least one of those attributes right from the beginning? Perhaps religion is deeply important to this man: fine, let the eccentricity come through later. Or mention the eccentricity, and save the Jesus for date four. Think bigger than personal ad - this is a lesson for life.
That night, the night when Toby drop by to my place, and make sure that I am okey, I shown him what I am just reading - checking at personal ads - he laugh at me. But he do gave me a courage to do so, so both of us will read and laugh at the same times.
I show him couple of ads that makes me laugh, and one of them is 'Unconventional Indian Male' indian male is fine - but is he go goddamn unconventional that he has to warm me with his first word? What will he do on our first date - wear a ten gallon hat and drinks soup through a straw? Life lesson: be quietly unconventional, don't brandish your quirks like the banner of a madman. I shall tell yours truly which three word intros woud prevent me from ever picking up the phone.
Here's another, Toby's pick and pointed to me 'Sensitive 47yrs, young in heart and soul' not promising. I imagine a drunk in a clown suit, sobbing, gradually revealed over a period of time. Announced too soon, it's easily mistaken for 'thin-skinned and crotchety.' i would also disregard 'professional Scottish male' because I couldn't keeps up with the drinking and fights. But I suspect that fellow could have been saved by comma.
At once, Toby point out the very last one at the bottom of the magazine. He told me there will be no joy for the chap who begins his ads with 'I am seeking Collin Farrell' - his needs are far too specific and boys like me will fear disappointing him. Life lesson - don't have a blueprint - let man delight you with their individual charms.
So, Toby told me that I don't have to answer any of these ads. Unless, if I willing to devote half an hour of my weekly to reading those tiny anonymous hellos, and making a mental note of which phrases cause my eyes to roll and my sympathy to rise, and that will make me look more sad, he said before he said good night and by to me.
He advised me to try all the internat access, he told me that his friends all busy with 'gay.com' or something like that. At least i could see their picture and I could judge them by the picture and description they put it in on.
But, a week later or so, I am finding reading to all those ads are more fun then putting myself into the internet. I am particularly amazed by this guy, the way he put it the words, the way he descript himself and what he looking for, very honest (at least sound like it). So, here I am - thinking either to reply or just go to bed and sleep.
The cafe empty except for myself and one staff who sat behind the counter, engrossed in yesterday's paper. The chairs and tables waited for lunchtime customers and I gazed nervously through the salt-encrusted window toward the beast. Outside, waves were rolling in, each one crashing against the parapet just metres from where I sat. The howling wind was a stark reminder of my loneliness.
I glanced at my watch: 'ten minutes to one' I said to myself as I cursed the day I answer Chris's ad from the magazine, and since Malik and Toby has been worried about me being alone. Again, I wondered why I persisted in putting myself in these sorts of situations. But there are so few places to meet a man these days and all of them are risky. Going into Gay bar alone just wasn't an option, and going to sauna is more risky, this is because I wasn't looking for just sex. All my friends told me that they'd had a great sex in the sauna but to be honest i am not looking for sex. I am looking for a companion which could ease my loneliness times at home.
Since I'd broke-up with William a year ago, it's been hard to make friends. The opportunities I'd had of turning a friendshipa into a relationship had met a sorry end. Just when i thought everything was going well, the guys turn out to be a wanker. Even some of them are Malik's friends - all are a bunch of looser and user - I am sick of it.
So, here I am, i couldn't believed I'd answer one of the ads. But Chris's ad sounded perfect. Not only did he like the things I did - writing, travelling, the beach, movie/theatre, cooking and the classic music - but the ads hinted at an emotional side, similar to mine..
Part of me said to let it go, and another inner voice of mine says 'just do it, nothing wrong with it.' So, the very next day, I place my response. A few days later, Chris wrote to my post-office box number with plans for our first date. It all sounded so anonymous and so discreet, but more than anything it give me the opportunity to back out, my dignity still intact.
But now, in the reality of the moment, all my uncertainties came flooding back. What 'IF' he didn't find me attrative? What if he wasn't attrative? I gripped the arm of my chair. 'No.' I told myself firmly, but it was all I could do to stop myself from picking up my wallet and my mobile and making my escape out into the sea-spray and beyond.
'If I left now.' I thought, 'he'd never know that I'd come.' that way I wouldn't have to make up an excusses if we didn't work-out. I could save both of us a lot anguish. Who needs a relationships anyway?'
Immediately I chastised myself. 'Who're you kidding.' It had been a year since William - and if anyone was ready for a new relationship - it was ME. I was tired with Malik and I was tired of endless evening alone with no-one to talk to but MYSELF. in truth, I'd love nothing more than to have some strong arms to encirclr and proctect me.
I drummed my finger on the cheap melamine table-top and squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. My stomach churned - Maybe I was hungry!
I look over at the parade of delicacies on the counter - chocolate mud cake, almond fingers, and delicates tarts. My mouth salivated, but a niggling voice told me no. I'd put on weight since William. Long, lonely nights that make me become a best friend with my fridge and it's showed. Gone were the slinky shirt I used to wear - now I choose anything that hung loosely at my tummy.
The opening of the heavy door interruped my thoughts. My heart pounded. With great relief I saw it was a woman pushing a girl of about five ahead of her into the cafe. 'Phew...!' She said, closing the door behind her. 'Who'd be out on a day like this?' But she was addressing to no-one in particular. She used one hand to push he long dark hair off her face and with the other directed the child toward the counter. the waiter put his paper aside and got himself up. "Can I help you?' he asked.
The child began to grizzle and pull at the doll she held by her legs. the women surveyed the cakes for a moments, telling her child to shush. She was fairly young in her mid-thirties. A navy dress peeked out from under the black coat that sparked with tiny crops of rain. 'a white coffee for me and a chocolate doughnut for Emma, please.' And the child let out a little squeal of delight and threw her arms her mother's legs.
'I'll bring them over,' the waiter said. I watch as the made themselves comfortable, the little girl carefully placing her doll on the chair next to hers. Sighing. I looked at my watch again. five minutes past one.
'You could still escape,' said a tiny voice inside me. 'No' I thought. 'I'll give him five more minutes.' I stared out the window. It was threatening to rain again. A lone seagull hovered mid-flight, looking for scraps on the footpath.
The cafe waiter, in white apron, brought a steaming cup of coffee and the doughnut to the women.
'You can pay me when you leave.' he said as she fumbled in her handbag.
She smile and looked over at me. I smiled self-consciously, wondering what she might think of me if she knew why I was here on this dreadful wintry Melbourne weather. As if in response, an especially large wave crashed, sending spray against the window.
'Oooh that was a big one.' Said the woman to her child and she pulled her doughter chair a little closer in gesture of proctection. the girl seemed oblivious as she hungrily into her doughnut, spreading chocolate across her cheek.
The wait was g etting too much. I looked at my watch almost ten minutes past one. Suddenly, it occurred to me Chris had already arrived, seeing me through the window and decided not to put in an appearance.
My heart sank. Surely he wouldn't do that? But while I'd considered that option myself, it hadn't dawned on me that he might have done the very same thing. Sheepishly I crossed the window and peered out. There was nobody in sight, just a stray dog looking for shelter.
'Can I help you?' asked the waiter standing just behind me. Slightly flustered i said, 'No, I am just waiting for someone.'
'Look like you've been stood up.' said the women with a small laugh. 'Not surprising thought, just looks at the weather, No - one in their right mind would be out on a day like this.'
'You're right there.' I said. 'Would you like to join me in for a cup of coffee?' she offered.
'That would be nice. I said. 'It looks as if he's no-show.'
She patted the vacant chair beside her and waved her hand to the waiter's. 'Another coffee plaese.'
Then she stretched her other hand toward ne, 'my name is Chris and this is Emma.' My mouth fell open. 'I am George.' I muttered. There was a moments of silence before the penny dropped. We laughed.
'But C-H-R-I-S is chort for Christine,' She spell it out slowly.
'The magazine must have decided they knew better. But I am not a man, not the last time I looked, anyway.'
Emma started at her mother over the top of her doughnut.
'You sound so nice in your ads,' I said, hardly able to hise my disappointment.
'I am nice of anyone takes the opportunity to know me.' And Chris gestured toward the counter. 'Come on: let's have a treat, Mud cake?'
'Why not?' I said, still feeling a little silly. But then I thought, 'Who know? This women and her little girl could put an end to my loneliness by becoming my good friends.' And all good friendships start from somewhere..
It was winter 1998 and it was Christine Douglas
Leek and bacon quiche
1 sheet ready -prepared shot crust pastry, defrosted
20g butter bacon rashers, trimmed and chopped
2 leeks, halved and sliced
6 eggs
3/4 cup cream
1 cup grated cheddar cheese
sea salth and black pepper
Pre-heat the oven to 180C, press the pastry into a lightly 20cm loose bottomed fluted tart tin, trim the edges and refrigerate for 10 mins
Heat a non-stick frying pan over high heat. add the butter, bacon and leeks and cook for 3 mins or until tender.
Allow to cool slightly, place the eggs and cream in a bowl and whisk to combine. Place the leeks mixture in the tart shell and pour over the egg mixture, top with the cheese, salt pepper and bake for 20 mins or until puffed and golden.
Remove the quiche from the tin and slice to serve...
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