There’s a man drought in the city. Single girls outnumber single guys two to one, maybe even three to one. This is true because I’ve read the proclamations in countless articles, seen the stories on A Current Affair and watched in horror as hapless farmers take their pick of a hundred potential wives.
The odds are probably closer to five to one.
Being newly single and on the fast-track to 30 I know things are stacked in my favour. I can get dressed on my own, cook a balanced meal and my addiction to video games is mild… I can stop playing whenever I want. Really.
Meeting someone in Melbourne should be like shooting fish in the proverbial. Still, it’s with no end of trepidation that I’ve recently stepped out into the cold winter nights to rescue a fair maiden from the depths of the drought. It’s my duty, you see - the news articles have told me so.
The obvious place to start is in a city bar on a Friday night, there’s the hearth of the fireplace, the mulled wine is free flowing and the punters are jubilant. Especially the guys, they’re out-numbered by girls ten to one.
At the end of the bar a girl sits alone, her blonde hair gets all the attention and the slight gap in her front teeth seals the deal for the stream of hopefuls who I watch get turned away one by one.
Taking a chance, I sit next to her and try a different tack, pretending not to notice her as I sit for a while and whittle away my drink, casually chatting to the bartender.
It works and before I know she’s struck up a conversation with me, she’s gorgeous, bubbly and laughs in all the right places, I give her my number before she traipses off into the night. The bartender congratulates me on being the only one he’s seen to hold her attention and with a whiff of pride and a strong sense of achievement I go home that night happy. She never calls.
On a Saturday I try something different, something I swore off doing somewhere in my early to mid-20s. I find myself lining up at the doors of a horrid inner-city meat-market.
Trying not to feel too old watching the sad parade of humanity shuffle through the doors, I am slowly herded to the front like prized cattle.
Told I have to wait before entering, it’s obvious I won’t be getting in. No, I’m not on a guest list tonight and I also don’t have a collared shirt. When anyone gives you more than one excuse for anything you just know it’s a sham, for these two reasons I’m destined for the sidewalk.
My pride’s a little dented but it doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to go to your stupid club anyway, and I watch sadly as a group of short-skirted girls skip past me unquestioned, with a t-shirted guy in tow.
Shortly thereafter I find there’s no man drought in Hungry Jacks at 2am as two groups of guys fight over a cheeseburger. I guess they weren’t on the guest list either. Ladies, take your pick.
I feel a slight sting of desperation as I take to the computer. I know of at least one successful marriage that started with an RSVP kiss and ended in a beautiful baby girl.
Unfortunately for her she’ll one day unwillingly be part of a bigger problem. Twenty to one.
I trawl a few profiles and am immediately disheartened by all the trivial things.
Favourite Music: Anything really, I like Top 40. I’m sure if I played her some Aphex Twin her definition of “anything” would shrink considerably.
Favourite Film: The Shawshank Redemption. It’s always the bloody Shawshank Redemption, Stephen King’s version was better.
To misquote both Shakespeare and Minnie Driver I ask ‘Where are all the good girls? Dead, in the heart or in the head?’ I guess they can’t help it, they’ve abandoned all hope, there’s a man drought, and they’re already as despondent as I am.
The odds are against them, 50 toone.
I suspect they are just hiding the fact that they have nothing to say and are hoping like crazy that nobody asks. The girls that go out dancing seem to only dance together. The ones drinking in bars are escaping their boyfriends for the night and everyone else - well, they smell more desperate than I do.
Still its early days for me and the numbers are in my favour. One hundred to one.
I should really be feeling sorry for my ex-girlfriend in all of this. You see there’s a man drought in this city and for all I know I’m the last single man alive. And I know she wouldn’t like those odds.
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@karalee_ yeah, have concluded same after cursory look at a few. Scary that some brands might actually use them
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