KATE DAVIS
Baggage
Bohemian Gemini, 53
I’m
creative, intelligent, a good cook for a bloke. I crave vitality, spontaneity,
and I love to dance.
I
am a 3D designer and sculptor, among other things…
I ski as much as I can in the winter. I sail as much as I can in the
summer. I’m open to trying something new. What’s your passion?
I’m looking for
Females
aged between 43 and 53.
I’m
looking for a lady that I can love, respect and adore.
So
if you are an educated, eloquent, elegant woman who likes romance, knows
herself in every way, is confident, infectiously happy, has a sparkle in your
eye, a big smile, looks to the future and buries the past—have stored your
baggage—then we may have a positive match.
Naturally,
all the normal pre-requisite values of honesty, sincerity and trust must apply.
She read a lot of profiles before writing her own. She took
on board the major themes expressed, the likes and dislikes, collated the data
and then tailored her profile to fit. Once she found the perfect profile for
her requirements, the man who at least on paper would be her Mr Write, her
paper mate, it was only a matter of editing a few lines to make her perfect for
him.
Aeroman, 42
Dinner,
movies, a DVD cuddled up on the couch. Someone who could stay the night cuddled
up in my arms. Is that too much to ask? Is it selfish? Is it wrong? I am not
looking for sleazy encounters but a long-term lover and someone to socialise
with. A girlfriend. I do not wish to get married straight away or move in with
you. I have my own life and expect that you have yours. Forgive me for laying
this out but life is going by so fast. Into kayaking, travelling, camping,
skiing and also enjoy the occasional beer.
I’m looking for
Females
aged between 27 and 40.
An
intelligent and healthy woman. Prefer the natural look of a girl over one who
is too done up: just be yourself. No need to cake on the makeup or spray
yourself with chemicals. Not covered with tattoos or excessive piercings. I am healthy
and clean and want to stay that way so no players please. Nobody who would be
cheating; married but separated is OK. Definitely NO smokers or druggies. NO
BAGGAGE.
It wasn’t just the profiles she had to go on. She also had
the years of advice and helpful comments from her friends and family. She had,
after all, been single for a long time. With her fortieth rapidly approaching
and the advice of her friends echoing loudly in her ears, she knew she had no
time to waste. She didn’t really think turning forty was a big deal. She had
reconciled herself to the fact she wouldn’t have children but, as a friend
recently pointed out, dating years were like dog years, and after forty she was
more likely to get shot by terrorists than find a mate. She had increased the
amount she spent on her appearance and had started getting regular shots of
Botox, and now she had decided to bite the bullet and try online dating.
YEY_ME 51
Well,
my female friends would describe me as a genuine, humorous, kind, compassionate
and generous person. I tend to sometimes be a little OTT when it comes to
things like dinner parties or weekends away. But no one is perfect so I’d say I
do get frustrated with laziness and people who don’t keep their word, but
that’s mainly on a business level.
I
try to make an effort to get to the gym and do a few laps in the pool 3 to 4
times a week, I LOVE good food and enjoy the finer things in life.
My
background has been involved with 4-5 star hotels so camping would be a
challenge. Ha Ha. Enjoy social times with friends, weekends away, weeks away,
dinner parties, doing anything spontaneous and quiet nights with a movie, maybe
a wine and some good French brie.
I’m looking for
Females
aged between 40 and 48.
From
1 to 10 … Doesn’t sweat the small stuff, Takes care of herself, Smart,
Attractive,
Loves
a Laugh, Enjoys the finer things, Independent, Likes to Travel, Enjoys good
Food,
Has
a fun group of friends … that should mean you’re fun as well … PERFECT Ha Ha
So
if you have checked your baggage … message me.
There had been some boyfriends along the way but they never
seemed to last more than a few months. It wasn’t her that ended the
relationships, it was always them. She was happy enough, she supposed, but they
always seemed to grow weary or irritable or bored. There was always something.
In her twenties her friends had put it down to her just not meeting the right
one. In her early thirties as all of her friends and family became more
entrenched in their relationships, and as the last few singles found love she
started to notice a change. Instead of blaming the fates for just not providing
the right guy, the comments started to focus on her and what she was doing
wrong.
With every year that passed in her thirties her friends’
advice became less and less sugar coated. The comments once candied were now
just plain candid, but still framed by disclaimers. ‘I’m just trying to be
honest’ or ‘It’s for your own good’. Often her friends were going through
relationship trials and tribulations of their own, and yet because they had
children and relationships, even failed ones, they felt they had a right to
point where she was obviously faltering. From the smug sanctity of their own
coupled and recoupled domestic dogma, they coached her like a team. A team that
just couldn’t win.
On the outside she soldiered along, taking it all in her
well-organised single stride. She was successful in her work, financially independent,
freehold and she made a point of saying yes to almost everything she was
invited to. She went to the gym and she regularly attended concerts and shows,
often paying for a ticket to take one of her married-but-mortgaged friends
along. They repaid her generosity with motivational tips on how she might alter
in order to become coupled like them. Outwardly she didn’t react to the
plethora of comments, but inside each comment entered into her ledger of
self-esteem like a purchase on a credit card that was already approaching its
limit. With the same attention to detail she applied to her household accounts,
she remembered every single charge.
‘What have you done to your hair? That
colour doesn’t really suit you.’
‘Do you have to be so political?’
‘Have you put on some weight?’
‘I’m not saying to act dumb, but you don’t
always have to be so smart.
That’s all.’
‘Have you lost weight? Your face is
looking really gaunt.’
‘Don’t tell them about your past. Divorced guys that value
commitment will be put off because you haven’t been in a long-term
relationship.’
‘Are you doing a lot of weights? You’re getting really
muscly. It’s not very feminine.’
‘You know when you’re upset you can get
such a bitchy tone.’
‘I just think men probably find you really intimidating,
with your job and your opinions and everything.’
‘You’re always so dressed up. You need to
look like you put in less effort.’
‘Oh my god, you get so assertive and loud
when you get excited.’
‘Are you wearing that? Really?’
‘Are you still collecting those old bears? Christ, why
don’t you just start feeding stray cats.’
Now here she was at thirty-nine, spending a rare Saturday
night at home. She was wearing sweats, with a blanket over her knees, the TV
was on but muted, and she was slowly indulging in her secret passion for
really, really good quality ice-cream. She was on to her second tub. She didn’t
notice the quiet as her head was buzzing noisily trying to balance the bios
from the online dating site while reconciling her friends’ statements.
Diligently studying the online world of dating, she was so engrossed in her search
for Mr Write that she didn’t even notice she was dangerously in the red. She
ate the ice-cream in a steady rhythm of tiny teaspoon tasters, letting each
morsel slide down her throat soothingly. She was so absorbed she hardly felt
the brain freeze. That was when she found him.
Ready2MoveOn, 54
Men
are often defined by their amount of baggage, their level of emotional maturity
and their financial prowess. Having succeeded at conquering all three, I have a
unique view of what makes a relationship successful. I have no baggage (my wife
got that in the settlement. LOL). I manage a successful business and now I’m
looking for the perfect woman who can manage me. LOL. If you wish to survive
the many perils of dating in your forties, then it might pay to drop me a note
(in English, not smile language) so that I can show you what a generous,
successful and sincere looking man looks like.
I’m looking for
Females
aged between 35 and 45.
Attractive,
slim 40-something women who are just coming into their prime. Someone who is
independent and yet appreciates old-fashioned values. Must love to have fun,
share my passions but also have hobbies of her own. Fun to be with but not
opinionated or bossy. Someone who is keen to muck in, but is still elegant and
likes to dress up. Someone who still wants to be treated like a lady but is
still in touch with the little girl inside. Someone who wants to spend romantic
weekends away, but also loves romantic nights and dinners in. Someone who
hasn’t let herself go, looks after herself, slim, and well put together.
Preferably petite. NO BAGGAGE. Only messages with a recent photo will be
responded to. If that sounds like you and you’re ready to be treated like a
princess then don’t be shy. Say hello.
He was perfect. Older, divorced and he owned his own
company. He lived nearby in an equally affluent suburb. He had two teenage
children whom he loved dearly and couldn’t imagine life without, that he
wouldn’t trade for the world, and he spent as much time as he could with them
once a month. He didn’t want more. His photos showed a lifestyle she thought
she might enjoy. Skiing in Queenstown, standing on a tropical beach, a variety
of photos taken in front of iconic landmarks around the globe. Many of the
photos had one of his arms cropped, or a disembodied shoulder of a petite
brunette. He wasn’t good looking in a conventional sense, or even an
unconventional sense, but he looked confident. He looked like he was in
control.
All she had to do was tweak the profile she had constructed
and she would be Ready2MoveOn to the next stage of her plan. Just as she
finished that thought the timer on her phone went off. She picked it up and
silenced the alarm and then stood up from the couch, throwing the empty
ice-cream containers into the rubbish on the way to the toilet. Pushing her
hair out of the way she bent over and put her fingers down her throat. The
ice-cream was still cold coming back up, and that made her happy as she knew
she hadn’t waited too long. That was one of the reasons she loved ice-cream. It
still felt nice on her throat coming back. When she finished the process of
repeated purging she washed her face, cleaned the toilet and went to the
kitchen, where she made herself a cup of green tea and then returned to her
spot on the couch.
She felt empty and light. As she read over her completed
profile and started to neatly edit it to fulfil the requirements of Ready2MoveOn, she found herself believing her own responses. She filled in the
blanks, drank her tea, and felt started to fell less empty.
The only thing left to do before activating her online
membership was to select a name. It didn’t take her long. The men were looking
for an ideal, a princess. She needed a name that would reflect that. They also
wanted someone to rescue and build into the ideal woman. So when she finally
went live under the name of Cinders
she was being neither ironic nor metaphorical.
When she sent Ready2MoveOn a smile J she felt nothing but
optimistic.
As she tidied away her cup and straightened the cushions
before going to bed she glanced around her immaculate but cosy apartment.
Obviously it was time for her to pack away things like her antique teddy bear
collection. Actually she thought she should probably pack up all the
knick-knacks she had collected from her travels. She would start boxing things
up in the morning. She went back to the bathroom and pulled off her tracksuit
pants and brushed her teeth. Even though she examined herself intently in the
mirror she never noticed the little bit of sick caught in the ends of her hair.
The next day she started packing up. She had begun
collecting the antiques bears as a child. She only had around thirty, but
still, she could see her friend’s point. She looked at their worn and sometimes
scruffy condition. Occasionally one would be so pre-loved a little of the straw
might be sticking out of a threadbare arm or belly. They were all individuals,
purchased for the individuality of their expression. As she took each one from
the shelves where they had been proudly displayed she couldn’t bear to consider
each little face looking at her. So without allowing any emotion to penetrate
her packing she started to stuff the bears roughly into the boxes. Once she
started, she realised just how much she needed to do.
She sent an email to her work alerting them to the fact she
was packing and unable to come in. By the end of Monday she had stripped the
lounge, filling the boxes and then taking them downstairs and stacking them in
her formerly unused storage locker. Then she started on her wardrobe. She
pushed things into rubbish sacks and dropped them at the Salvation Army. On
Tuesday she went to an expensive store and bought some elegant dresses.
Then she stopped at a gardening centre and
bought some practical-looking gumboots. On the way home she called in at a
friend’s and explained she needed a photo. Her friend complied enthusiastically
as she put on the elegant dress and the gumboots and they took a photo of her
pulling a weed out of her friend’s garden. Elegantly mucking in. They uploaded
the photo to her profile immediately.
It wasn’t until the Wednesday night, when she was stuffing
her photo albums and school yearbooks into the trash that she saw the alert
letting her know she had received a new message. There had been several
messages so far, but she hadn’t opened or acknowledge any of them because they
weren’t from him. Finally, Ready2MoveOn had
responded to her smile.
For the rest of the week he sent messages and she
responded. She never initiated, she just waited. Packing, cleaning and
preparing responses. By Friday he suggested a meeting. Lunch at a café on
Sunday. On Saturday night she declined an invitation from friends to attend a
barbecue and stayed home. She didn’t even buy any ice-cream. She began deleting
folders on her laptop, cleaning the only thing left in her apartment that
hadn’t already been purged. Now even her hard drive was devoid of a past and
her browser showed no history. By Sunday she was ready.
After ensuring she was looking as elegant, feminine but
casual, totally together and not-let-herself-go as possible, she set off to
meet Ready2MoveOn. She arrived five
minutes early but waited in her car until he sent her a text saying he was in
the café waiting. Then, leaving both phone and handbag in the car, she went to
meet him.
He was sitting in the front of the café at a large table
designed for six. He had pushed his chair out and had one leg resting on an
empty seat. He was leaning back and talking loudly into his phone. He laughed
and said something about his future wife arriving and then he stood to greet
her. As he leaned in to kiss her cheek he made no attempt to disguise the fact
that he was examining her from tit to toe.
‘Nice, very nice indeed,’ he said as his hand dropped from
her shoulder to her caress her hip. A waiter approached and when asked what she
wanted she looked straight to Ready2MoveOn,
who answered for her. He ordered two cappuccinos, and even though she normally
drank her coffee black, she didn’t mind because she had forgotten.
They sat and exchanged pleasantries. He
didn’t really look like his photos, which she now realised must be a few years
old. He was tall, almost bald, lean shoulders and limbs, but his belly
unexpectedly soft, escaping over his belt. His teeth were yellow and quite
large. There were little bits of dried saliva at each corner of his mouth. His
breath was rank, like that of an animal that lives on dead carcasses. Carrion.
Indeed, he hunched his tall frame over, slightly vulture like, as he sat
telling her how relieved he was that she was almost as attractive as her
photos. She spoke little but laughed prettily, elegantly, in a feminine and
girlish way. When he mentioned his bitch of an ex-wife he sprayed spittle and
then laughed menacingly.
She smiled and laughed and nodded. Listening intently so
she would be able to respond appropriately. His eyes were hard, bloodshot and
blue and as he fixed them on her it flashed through her mind that they were
completely unlike the eyes of a teddy bear. No bear would ever have eyes so
cold and hard. He leaned toward her, sharing his menu and asking what she felt
like eating, and she tried to imagine his mouth on hers.
‘What do you feel like, Cinders?
Hope you’re not one of those women that pretend they don’t eat. I like a woman
with an appetite,’ he said lecherously.
‘Ice-cream,’ she replied.
Published in Landfall 228, November, 2014
Published in Landfall 228, November, 2014
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