A Comment on Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I went on a date with a man who was very hostile. He had asked me out without knowing anything about me, but by the time I arrived at the café he had Googled me and decided he didn’t like me. I know this because he immediately began criticizing my opinion writing (he only believed in ‘facts’), my public profile (he is very ‘introverted’), and my social media use (he doesn’t even have a FB page).

He should have cancelled the date, but instead he arrived, barely looked at me, and then left after a cursory 29 minutes. I would not wish to repeat the experience.

Why am I telling you this? Because this, my friends, is why I don’t read the comments on my articles.

Reading the comments on the big websites I write for is like sitting down to coffee with someone who can’t stand me. They don’t know me, but they hate everything that I represent. I don’t want to subject myself to people who don’t like me, and so I choose to stay away.

Let me explain. Yes, there are some positive comments on big websites. But for the most part, people don’t comment a lot when they agree with an article. They might share it on their social media feeds, or press the ‘like’ button, or even message me about it, but they won’t bother logging in to the site and leaving a comment.

People log in and leave a comment most frequently when they are angry. And they are angry when they strongly disagree with the thesis of a piece. And when they strongly disagree with the thesis of a piece, they often decide the writer is a moron/an idiot/an *insert your choice of insult here*. Because angry people don’t see shades of grey. They see right and wrong, and if the writer is ‘wrong’, then they must be ‘bad’.

And so these commenters tell me how bad I am. They tell me how wrong I am. They tell me in all sorts of colourful language, with all sorts of capital letters, under all sorts of social media handles, most frequently anonymous. And they are allowed to do that, just like the dude I dated was allowed not to like me. But I didn’t have to date him, and I do not have to read the comments.
It doesn’t enrich me to read negative comments about my pieces. It frustrates me to read comments about me that are not true, and it frustrates me more that there is nothing I can do about it. And it depresses me no end to know that people like these commenters exist – people who are homophobic, anti-feminist, anti-choice, racist, or anti-whatever it is I have written about at the time.

Now, it’s true that there may be a useful comment in there somewhere. It’s true that someone may have a point of view that would enlighten or inform me. But sadly, I would have to wade through hundreds of insults to get to it, and the cost-benefit equation doesn’t add up in my favour.

When I stay away from comments, this frustration doesn’t exist. When I stay away from comments, these people don’t exist. And – whilst I know intellectually that they are still out there, just like the dude who didn’t like me still walks this earth – I don’t have to experience the frustration and sadness they bring to my life.

Happily, I still have this Facebook page, where people can leave a comment and communicate with me directly. For the most part, people are polite and friendly on my Facebook page, partly because they usually choose to visit my page if they already like my work, and partly because commenters are easily identifiable on Facebook. People are far ruder when they are shielded by anonymity than they are when you can see photos of their children.

But until such time as commenters are accountable on websites, I will continue to shield myself from their onslaughts. I am just a writer doing my job. And I would rather sit down for a coffee with someone who likes me than with someone who wants to tear me apart.

Finally... An Excellent First Date

I had a brilliant date this week. One of the best ever.

We had connected online - on Twitter, to be precise - after corresponding about a project my date had been involved with. Unfortunately we live in separate states, but when my date travelled to Sydney for work we arranged to meet for lunch.

Often you meet someone and they look different to their photos, or the connection you had in the written word doesn't translate to a real life chemistry. In this case we just clicked. From the moment we saw each other in the assigned location, to the moment I had to leave an hour and a half later, we did not stop talking.

Our time together was too short. I'm so looking forward to seeing her again.

Yes, she's a her. A female friend. And no, this post is not about coming out - it is about the joys of female friendship, and the strange reality that it is so much easier to find a connection with another female than it is with a man.

This Saturday night I have a date with another new friend. She's a bit younger than me, absolutely gorgeous, and fabulous fun. We met through work, and our interactions are super easy and relaxed. Another dear friend of mine is the sister of a friend, and when we were introduced at the party we both knew we'd be in each others' lives forever.

Of course I don't connect with every woman I meet. But in the last couple of years I have formed several real, rewarding connections with female friends, and yet - despite dating regularly - I have not felt it with a new man. And I'm not the only one. My single/divorced female friends report exactly the same thing. They meet women they connect with all the time, but not men. And it's baffling. Are men and women really so different? And if so, how can we bridge that gap?

"How could I have met 30 or more men and not one was right?" a friend asked. I couldn't answer, because my experience has been the same. And don't tell us we're too choosy, because all we are looking for is the same resonance that we feel with female friends. That feeling of inhabiting the same emotional landscape. Would you settle for anything less?

As my date this week agreed, true connections fill up our cup. And my cup is largely being filled by women (metaphorically, not literally, see 'not coming out' comment). I cherish my female friends. And girl dates really do lift my soul.

The Seven (Eight?) Steps of An Internet Date

Note: This is not a manual. This is my personal experience. This is probably why I am still single. I know, I know...... 

Stage One

Receive kiss/smile/nudge/message/swipe from person on Internet Dating site. Think, "Oh, he's cute! Thank god! There are still cute people left in my age group!" Respond positively.

Note: If the person is repulsive, terminate here.

Stage Two

Begin messaging the person. Think, "Oh, he's funny and can spell! Thank god! There are still funny people left on the internet who can spell!" Casually ask what the person's job is to check he is not in jail, unemployed or a real estate agent. Breathe sigh of relief. Casually how long the person has been separated/divorced/widowed/single to check he is not married, 'separated but still living together', 'looking for some threesome fun' or needing solace after the sudden death of his wife last week. Breathe sigh of relief.

Note: If the person is illiterate, married, grieving or a real estate agent, terminate here.

Stage Three

Exchange real names. Immediately Google the person to check they are, indeed, who they say they are. When LinkedIn profile matches Internet Dating profile, breathe a sigh of relief.

Note: If the person does not actually exist on the internet, terminate here. Everyone who is a real person has some kind of online footprint. I mean, some people actually don't, but they are to be approached with the utmost suspicion and caution and I ain't got time for that.

Stage Four

Exchange phone numbers. Add person's name to phone with helpful reference details such as 'Phil the Accountant from RSVP', 'Mark the Podiatrist from eHarmony' or 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder'. Commence texting.

Note: You probably wouldn't really save 'Simon the Hottie from Tinder' in your phone as he probably won't be around for long, but I'm trying to be comprehensive here.

Stage Five

Exchange witty texts for a couple of days. Forward the choicest texts to your best friend with captions such as 'He's so funny!' and 'He's so clever!' and 'Look how cute he looks holding a wombat!'

Note: If he can't spell for shit, is boring, or doesn't respond to your texts within an hour, terminate here.

Stage Six

Speak on the phone.

Note: If he sounds like something out of Kingswood Country, if there are massive, awkward silences, or if he has a higher voice than you, terminate here. 

Stage Seven

Meet.

Note: If he looks twenty years older than his pictures, if he is six inches shorter than specified, if he is obnoxious/rude to waitstaff/boring/arrogant/disinterested in you, if he has no sense of humour, if he doesn't get your humour, if he cries when talking about his ex, if he becomes purple with rage when talking about his ex, if he doesn't ask you anything about yourself, if he talks excitedly about your future babies, if he proselytizes about God/clean eating/manifesting your own truth, or if he simply does not resonate with you for whatever reason, terminate here.

Stage Eight

Fucked if I know. I guess you meet again?

Ask Me About Dating!

So... a couple of weeks ago I was approached by eHarmony to participate in a series of videos about dating and relationships. At first I assumed I was chosen because I am such an expert in matters of love and sex - after all, I have written extensively on the subject and been on about 17,000 dates with 16,999 different men.

As discussions continued, however, it became clear that the videos would feature a REAL expert in love and sex, and that I would be there as an example of someone who needs help.

Which is fine. Really. I'm totally cool with that. As is my cat, who will probably eat my body after I die alone....

Anyway. I like eHarmony. I've actually met a couple of really nice men through eHarmony (and one dude who turned out to be a complete and utter nob, but that really wasn't the fault of the website). And I'm excited to be meeting Melanie Schilling, the Proper Relationship Expert. I have all sorts of questions for her, like:

1. How long should you chat to someone before you actually meet them?
2. Do you need to give someone a reason why you don't wish to see them again?
3. Why was that dude such an utter nob?

Even more excitingly, as the video won't be shot for another couple of weeks, I can ask any questions that you have for Melanie. You can write them as a comment here on the blog, in Facebook or on Twitter, or email me directly if you want to remain anonymous, at k.sack@live.com and we will address them in the video.

For those of you who do not require dating advice, after you finish celebrating your paired-up status, feel free to ask me about my own dating experiences. I have some super interesting stories to tell.

Begin!

If you've ever rejected anyone you'll know this to be true...

I have been on a lot of first dates, most of which do not progress to seconds. Between my single girlfriends and me, we've racked up dozens. And a pattern has emerged, showing a glaring difference between the way that men and women handle rejection.

Men who are rejected tend to argue their case. Women who are rejected slink quietly away.

I've been rejected after one or two dates. It's horrible, particularly if you really like the guy. But the idea of pleading for a second chance, or arguing with the dude that he's wrong, is completely bizarre. What on earth would be the point? Who would want to go out with someone who gave you a second chance under sufferance? Who would want to go out with someone who rejected you???

But men think differently. I have had several men debate with me when I've told them very politely that I don't wish to see them again. One man told me that I owed him a chance to 'do better', and that really he wasn't at all the way he appeared on the first date. (Presumably he was acting when we met?) Another made the fine point that my rejecting him left us both still single, implying that a) it was my fault that he was alone, and b) it would be preferable to be with someone I didn't like than to remain unpartnered.

I have had men argue with me over the reasons for my rejection, telling me that my feelings were not valid, that my impressions of them were wrong, that I had no right to judge them. (Which begs the question: What are dates for?) 

And, when I've gone the easy route and said a simple 'Sorry, I'm just not feeling it' I have been told I am too superficial. It seems that a man is allowed to reject a woman when they don't feel any chemistry, but if a woman does the same it makes us shallow. 

Not all men are like this. But I can tell you in all honesty that the vast majority of men do not take rejection well. There is an overwhelming sense of entitlement, an expectation that if they like me, then I should try harder to like them. 

And it impacts on me, this sense of entitlement. It makes me feel guilty every time I politely tell a man I'm not interested. It makes me feel anxious when I open my inbox, in case there's an angry response from the guy I had a drink with yesterday. It makes me feel pathetically grateful when a man accepts my rejection gracefully and doesn't beg or berate me.

But it doesn't work in the reverse. Not even slightly. A man can reject a woman without a second thought, without any guilt or explanation or attempts to soften the blow. Men don't feel they owe women anything, particularly not women to whom they're not attracted. 

Dating is about assessing whether you want to get to know someone further. No-one owes anyone anything other than honesty and kindness. Rejection hurts - trust me, I know - but you can't argue someone into liking you. Say 'Thank you, it was nice meeting you,' and move on. Eventually you'll find someone who doesn't need convincing. 

And if you don't, well, at least you'll still have respect.

An Open Letter To The Man Who Likes Older Women

Dear Man Who Likes Older Women,

Thank you so much for approaching me on a dating site. I was touched to hear from you. 

You mention specifically in your profile that you are looking for someone over the age of 45 as you, and I quote, 'LOVE MY OLDER WOMEN'. I am not actually 'your' older woman, but that's really just semantics. I totally get that you want to hook an elderly person such as myself, and I'm honoured that I am considered old enough for you. After all, I really just scrape in there at 46.

You are clear that you 'know how to treat a lady' and will treat your partner 'as a princess'. This sounds very exciting to me as I would love to be treated as a princess. I particularly like the idea of having servants to wait on me and travelling in a private jet. I'm not sure about being on the cover of magazines, but presumably you can get your people to insist upon my privacy, as I used to be just a commoner. Of course, being an older woman I am probably more qualified to be a Queen than a princess, or perhaps even a Queen Mother, but again, these are fine details that we can thrash out later with my ladies-in-waiting.

I'm excited about my date!

I was curious about why you prefer the company of older women, and happily you cover that in your profile. You explain that older ladies are better confidants, better communicators, and better lovers. It is definitely true that I am a better lover than women under the age of 46, though admittedly women 47 and older are, by definition, better than me. 

As for being a better communicator, I think I am indeed very good at talking. To be perfectly honest, I talk more eloquently to intelligent people than to dickheads who approach women on the internet because they're old. But I'm sure I can make an exception for you.

And yes, I am certainly a better confidant than a young woman. Most young women wouldn't listen to you for more than 30 seconds without deleting you. I'm giving you a whole blog post! I know. You can thank me in the palace later. 

All in all I think we will make an excellent couple and I eagerly await our future together.

There's just one small issue.

Man Who Likes Older Women, you state that you are 43 years old. That is only three years younger than me. I am looking for someone way, way younger. Like maybe 24 or 25 at the oldest. They are such great communicators and terrific confidants, and I will treat my younger man like a prince....

Kerri

The Huge Flaw in Online Dating

One of the tough aspects of being single (apart from, well, the loneliness, the sexual deprivation, the having-no-one-to-go-to-the-movies-with, and the talking to myself at night) is to learn about other people finding partners. It's not that you begrudge anyone else a love interest; it's just that you think, how come they can find someone, and I can't?

Charles Manson, for example. He has found a fiancee and I don't have a date for Saturday night. Do you know what that does to my ego? He is a serial killer with a swastika carved into his forehead and a life sentence for murder! Clearly I am doing this all wrong.

In reality, however, I have decided to take a break from dating for a while. But taking a step back  has given me some valuable perspective, particularly about the online scene. 

It is very difficult to meet people organically if it is not through contacts. I don't meet people through work contacts because I work from home, and there aren't many people here.  (Hang on... I hear something in the kitchen.... No, no, it's just the cat.) And I don't meet many people through friends because very few of my friends know anyone single who is even remotely suitable for me. So if I do want to meet people, I have to either hang out at pubs (and seriously? I'd rather eat my own bedsocks) or go online.

But there is a serious problem with online dating: it is inextricably tied to appearance. Now, here's the irony - I am not someone to whom appearance is particularly important. I have been madly in love with men who are not at all conventionally attractive. But that's because I had time to get to know them, and fell in love with them for their personality, and the attraction followed.

When you are dating online, you simply don't get that opportunity. You cannot possibly date everyone, and so you have to be selective. And how do you select? Most men give only the briefest of bios, so all you know is their age, educational status, suburb, whether or not they have kids, and a short tag line. If there is Bob, who you find physically unappealing on initial look, Phil, who you find physically unappealing on initial look, and John, whose appearance appeals, who are you going to pick? You'll pick John. 

Hello, John! Is it me you're looking for?

Now, it's possible that you would find Bob or Phil attractive if you went out with them several times and got to know them, but that's a huge amout of time to invest on a complete stranger. And most of us just don't have that much time.

There are thousands of Bobs and Phils online. Maybe one of them could be my future partner. But the paradigm of online dating means that I probably won't find him, because I don't have time to spend getting to know thousands of men in the hope that one of them will become attractive to me after several dates. And so I'll stick with the Johns, which a) is incredibly limited, because there aren't that many Johns online, and b) is a ridiculous criteria for meeting people.

But how else do you do it? How would you do it? How do you do it? Is the man in the picture single? Do you think he's financially secure and is comfortable around children?

And has Charles Manson's fiancee ever tried RSVP? Do you think that's what pushed her over the edge??

#MyFirst... Date

I was a horrible person.

Okay, I wasn't really a horrible person. I was just young. And I was very inexperienced in the Ways of the Male. Or rather, how to deal appropriately with the Ways of the Male.

I was fifteen years old, and on holidays in Surfers Paradise with my parents. I had brought along a friend, and a few other friends of mine were there with various parents. My friends and I had met up one night for dinner at the local Toga restaurant, Roman Scandals. (Yes, the wait staff wore togas. It was considered very Of The Moment.)

Clive and friends

I had some Donelli Lambrusco at dinner, because it was sweet and cheap and that's what we drank (and if you are under 18 and reading this, underage drinking is BAD, as you will learn from this post).

I can't remember the details because a) it was thirty years ago, and b) Donelli Lambrusco, but somehow after dinner I ended up being walked back to our Surfers apartment by Clive the Toga Waiter. Clive was 18 or so - not much older than me - and very cute in the dark, at least when viewed through the prism of cheap, spritzy wine.

I was a little late for curfew, and as Clive waited by the elevator with me, and pressed his 18 year old lips to mine, the lift doors opened, and out jumped my father.

"I have to go!" I cried to Clive, and followed my dad into the lift.

"When did you meet that boy?" my father asked me.

"Tonight," I said sheepishly, and he shook his head.

The next day, I met Clive the Toga Waiter at the beer garden down the road. We had arranged our date when we were pashing, and it had seemed exciting at the time. I had never gone on a formal date before, and Clive looked so cute in the Donelli.

But when I got to the beer garden, and saw him in daylight without his toga (meaning, in shorts and a tee shirt - not naked, for goodness sake), I realised I had made a terrible mistake.

"You want a drink?" Clive asked me, and I shook my head.

"You want some chips?" he tried again, and I shook my head once more.

And so I sat, beside him, not saying a word, as he scoffed his chips and drank his beer and watched the footy game on the telly, thinking no doubt (because I was), "what an absolute little nob".

Then, after twenty minutes had passed, I said "I have to go," and left. And then I ran, and took a shower, and never saw his face again.

So that was my first ever date. Pretty hideous, but memorable. My second (first) date was much, much better.

But that is another story.

Next week's topic: #MyFirst... Agonising Loss of Material Possession

Rescue.com

Does somebody out there know how to make an app? Because I have a winner for you.

Imagine you are out on a date. A very bad date. You are sitting at the table, drinking your latte or sipping your wine, wondering desperately how you can get out of there. You can't text a friend without looking obvious, you can't make up an excuse without looking rude, and your bestie isn't due to call to check up on you for at least another twenty minutes and you just don't think you can last that long.

You shift your weight, pressing one button discreetly on your phone. And within a few minutes, a man appears at the door of the restaurant.

"DARLING!" he cries. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I can't bear being without you for a second longer! Please take me back!!!"

"Oh!" you cry. And though you have never seen this man before in your entire life, you run gratefully into his arms.

You look apologetically at your date. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't expect this... I really have to go...."

And with that, the date is over. You have been rescued.

In Rescue.com, users download their photos and first names to the app. When they are going on a first date, they register their location, and colour of outfit for easy spotting. Then, if they activate the 'Rescue Me' icon on the touchscreen, a call goes out to other Rescue.com users in the vicinity. The first to accept the call rushes to the scene and rescues the user. And the user, in turn, responds to Rescue Me calls as required. It is a Pay It Forward service, giving members the satisfaction of helping others in need (with the chance to meet and embrace utter strangers as a handy bonus!).

Of course, respondees don't need to be members of the opposite gender, or even the same gender if the user is on a same-sex date. One might argue that a woman rescuing another woman on a straight date, or a man rescuing a woman on a lesbian date, adds even more drama and finality to the situation.

And it's not just women who will need rescuing. Men have bad dates too, and will no doubt require assistance, and what better way to be rescued than by a single woman?

So here it is. Rescue.com. Go forth, build my app and let's make money. I promise you I shall be the first to sign up.

Not that I have ever felt the need to be rescued... seriously, this idea just came to me out of thin air....

Dating: What I Have Learned So Far

Well, it hasn't been long, but it's been long enough. I have been out on the scene, and I have found out a thing or two about how it works.

Let me tell you, it is interesting out there in Dating World. I've met some terrific people - some even more than once. And I have learned some lessons; lessons about what it's like to be dating in your forties, and lessons about what it's like to be dating at all.

• Texting and emails are not the same as face to face communication. You can have a wonderful connection with someone in messages, and none at all in person, and unless you're planning to conduct your relationship via smart phone from separate rooms you need to find that out. Meet sooner rather than later. 
• You will know within 30 seconds of meeting someone face to face if you are attracted to them. I know that attraction can grow over time. I also know that it has very little to do with 'objective' good looks. But trust me. You can look at photos, you can exchange emails, but once you walk into that room and meet that person you will know immediately if the chemistry is there or not. And if it's not there, it's not there, and it's never going to be.
• Be yourself from the very first meeting. There is no point feigning hobbies or interests, or trying not to swear when you usually do, or not mentioning your kids, or pretending you don't eat much. It doesn't matter how 'perfect' he seems. If he doesn't like you for you then he is not perfect and it would never work. And besides, trying to be someone else is exhausting. It's hard enough just being ourselves.
• Men can and do have as much relationship baggage as women, if not more. The difference is that women, generally speaking, will give themselves time before they start dating again. Men often rush out onto the dating scene almost immediately after a break up because they are loathe to be alone. And so you can find yourself dating a man who still has unresolved feelings for his ex. Beware. Ask questions. Listen carefully. And if he still seems to be pining for Kylie from two months ago, run very quickly back to RSVP. Because she isn't going away any time soon.
• A man who does not return your emails or texts is either dead or not interested in you. Retain your dignity and do not chase. But by the same token, be polite and respectful to the men you are not interested in and let them know so that they don't have to sit around waiting. A simple 'I'm sorry, I don't think it's going to work out' is sufficient and is basic human courtesy. (And to the very nice man who deserved better, I apologise. I'm just figuring this all out myself.)
• A small penis will always be a small penis, no matter how much time and love you give it. I mean this metaphorically, of course. A small penis isn't necessarily an issue. But if there is a is an issue at the beginning of a relationship - a characteristic, an attitude, unfinished business, a flaw - chances are it's not going to change. 
• Have fun. A few coffees, a few drinkies, meeting new people, having a chance to go out in the world... it's all good. And when it's not all good, have a break. Because, after all, there is nothing wrong with being alone.
  It's quite nice, actually.

Blind Date

On Saturday night I went on a blind date with an accountant. He told me his name was Jeremiah but I think he may have been fibbing. Jeremiah was rather an odd type. For a start, he lied about his work. He told me he was an accountant for a medical supplies company, but was rather sketchy about the details. He muttered something about 'artificial limbs' and 'thermometers' and then seemed to trail off in confusion. After a few minutes of gentle probing I discovered that he didn't work for a medical supply company at all. He worked for an electrical engineering firm. Perhaps he thought medical supplies sounded more interesting.

And, in fact, they did.

Jeremiah also had quite an unusual romantic past. Turns out he'd been married before (not surprising, really, given that he's in his forties). But he is not actually divorced, and he's not actually widowed. When I asked, quite innocuously, what happened to his wife he answered - defensively, I thought - 'Why do you ask?'

Well, I said, I'm just wondering... you know... I mean, did you part ways or did she die?

'She's gone,' he snapped.

Gone where? I asked.

'Why?' he countered. 'Who wants to know???'

It transpires that his wife was a mail order bride from a country I'd never actually heard of, which surprised and fascinated me. But just when I started to probe further into her country of origin, Jeremiah abruptly turned the conversation onto me.

'So what is it you do?' he asked, over a mouthful of pizza.

I'm a principal dancer with the Pan-Pacific Ballet company, I told him.

'You don't look like a dancer,' he responded, quite rudely, really.

We're part of a new wave of dancers, I explained patiently. We promote positive body image by not actually having dancer's physiques, or indeed doing any exercise whatsover. Jeremiah seemed appropriately impressed.

'Have you been married before?' he asked.

Yes, I told him. I was married to conjoined Bolivian twins Pride and Prejudice, but we split up when they split up.

'That must have been tricky,' he commented.

You have no idea, I said.

We contemplated dessert. The evening, I felt, was going quite well.

'Shall we just get a choc-top in the movie?' Jeremiah asked.

Yeah, good plan, I said.

'Go pay the bill,' he told me.

I paid with my credit card, and we left the restaurant.

And as we walked to the movie theatre, my husband held my hand.

The Night We Discovered The Best Job In The World

So last night my husband and I went out to dinner to celebrate his birthday. We went to a Very Fancy Restaurant, because my husband fancies himself as a Very Fancy Man. Fancy that!

Now, this restaurant had Very Good Food, with Very Good Service, and even some Exciting Experimental Dishes. You know. Like foam. And ice cream made of ingredients that really shouldn't be made into ice cream. You know. Like asparagus.

It was a degustation menu, which is always fun. They bring you a series of Teeny Tiny dishes, all of which add up to a Hugely Big meal. You start out starving and demolish the first three courses in a couple of mouthfuls, mopped up by the delicious breadroll; by the fourth course you realise you are full; and by the sixth course you can't even taste the food anymore, which is a shame because that's when they're starting to bring out the good stuff. You know. Like meat.

Now, degustation meals take a great deal of time, and my husband and I have been married for 12 years. In other words, the dinner lasted longer than the conversation. We had a lot to discuss during the first couple of courses, by the third we were floundering, and by the fourth we had started talking about the kids. (By the fifth course we were actually looking at photos of said offspring on our iPhones, which is so sad I considered not even writing it, but I am all for journalistic honesty).

So I spent a lot of time looking around me. Being in a corner booth, in a squared off section of the restaurant, we only had one set of table neighbours. They were a well groomed foursome who took detailed photos of every dish, before eating in earnest silence. Clearly they were either food bloggers or people with no family, who sat alone of an evening, surrounded by framed photos of tuna mousse and walnut encrusted duck. Either way, they weren't terribly interesting.

So I found myself gazing at the sommelier. Now, he was fascinating. A young man of slender build, his job was to open every bottle of wine, pour a sample into a glass, swirl it, examine it, sniff it, swallow it, nod, paste little labels on it, and serve it to the diners - presumably to ensure that none of the bottles had been corked, mislabled, poisoned, or somehow replaced with Diet Coke.

What's more, he had to carry over huge trays of glassware to each table. Without smashing them. Then pour the wine into the glasses. Without spilling it. Whilst getting progressively more drunk as the evening wore on. Because this was his job.

I was entranced. So much so that, when the bill came, revealing to me that this Very Fancy Restaurant was also a Preposterously Priced Restaurant, I didn't even resent paying the billions of dollars they requested. (Okay, I did, but not as much as I otherwise would have.)

Because this restaurant showed me something I had never seen before. A world in which young men can get paid to drink fabulous wine all night. A world in which one's job can be intoxicating. Literally.

Wouldn't suit me, though. I'd start off excitedly with the first three mouthfuls, be drunk by the fourth, and by the sixth I wouldn't be able to taste it anymore.

Guess I'm just a Diet Coke kind of girl.

Dating The Spouse

originally published in Tribe Magazine

I remember going on dates. I used to quite enjoy a night out with an attractive member of the opposite sex, back in the days when I was footloose and fancy free (so long ago, indeed, that “footloose and fancy free” was actually a contemporary saying).

Still, being married with kids doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy a good date. I can and I do. It’s just that, these days, the dates I usually enjoy are the plump, sweet, fruit variety as opposed to romantic evenings out.

However, the news is not all bad. I do still occasionally have dates of the romantic kind (and yes, for those who are wondering, they are generally with my husband). It’s very important to have special time regularly with your partner, in order to keep the magic alive. After all, you don’t want to spend your entire lives together shouting to each other over the heads and voices of your children, across plates of fish fingers, bowls of jelly, and assorted cups of milk.

And it is possible to incorporate a regular date night into your marital routine. If you’re in any doubt, just look at Brad and Angelina. They’re forever being photographed out and about, having glamorous child free time, despite their 157 children. Okay, so they have an entourage of nannies, assistants, makeup artists and so on to plan and execute the event, but that doesn’t mean that we mere mortals can’t do it too, right?

Well… yes and no.

The hardest part for most of us when it comes to going on a date is organising child care. Of course, some people are lucky enough to have parents or in-laws who live nearby and are happy to babysit. However, for those of us with no family nearby, or whose parents, like mine, selfishly choose to go on dates with each other instead of babysitting the grandchildren, we need to find paid help.

Yes, we need a babysitter.

Now, the babysitter is not easy to find. She needs to be responsible, reliable, mature, able to manage your children, and unlikely to have sex with her own romantic partner on your bed. She needs to be old enough to confidently deal with a crisis, young enough to need the income, and friendly enough to engage your kids, yet not friendly enough to actually have friends who want to party with her on a Saturday night.

Still, securing a babysitter (an achievement, one might argue, on a par with creating life in your womb) only gets you halfway there. There is still the question of getting ready for your date.

Now, getting dressed and made-up is fun when you’re alone in front of a mirror with perfume and cosmetics. Getting dressed and made-up with one child attached to your leg, as another refuses to finish his sausage and a third begs you tearfully not to leave – well, this is not quite as fun.

Even once you are dressed and ready, the battle is not yet over. You see, the real challenge of Date Night isn’t leaving the house looking fabulous. The real challenge of Date Night is to leave the house full stop – at least in time to make the movie, party or dinner reservation. There are the kids to peel off your leg, instructions to impart to the babysitter, bits of sausage to sponge off your top, and the car key to find (a challenge in itself in a home with more than one person).

Most significantly, there is energy to summon to make the whole thing seem worthwhile. After all, after a long day (week / month / year) with the kids, the most appealing option on a free Saturday night is generally not a movie, or dinner, or even a party. It’s sleep.

Yes, often on a Date Night - when the babysitter has been booked, the reservations made, the children notified and the emergency numbers taped to the fridge – the primary sensation one feels is not excitement, nor pleasure, nor even a mild sense of anticipation. No, the primary sensation one frequently feels is exhaustion.

Many is the time I have contemplated a night out with my husband – say, a movie followed by dinner followed by ice cream on the way home – not with the thrill I would have felt pre-parenthood, but with dismay verging on panic at the prospect of staying up beyond my bedtime (which these days is approximately three minutes after the children fall asleep).

Thing is, no matter how enjoyable the evening – how interesting the movie, how delicious the meal, how deeply my husband and I connected over a couple of bottles of West Coast Cooler - I know I’m going to suffer for it the next day. My kids will wake me as usual at the crack of dawn, having no respect for my need to stay up late to eat, drink, be merry, and bond with their father.

And then there’s the problem of pressure. You see, the less the opportunity one has to venture out alone with one’s spouse, the more pressure there is to make each precious date a good one. Furthermore, by the time you add babysitting costs into the equation, dates with your spouse can be incredibly expensive.

This can lead to the evening having one of a number of consequences. It can be a) a roaring success, as you are both determined to get the maximum enjoyment from each second (and the maximum value from each dollar); b) a bit of a letdown, as the night can’t possibly meet your tremendous expectations; or c) an utter disaster, as you both get so tense from the burden of having to have a sensational night that you end up arguing bitterly before you even get out of the car (not that this has ever happened to me… I’m just… you know… speculating...).

Still, no matter what the challenges are, it’s important to keep Date Night alive. For one thing, every parent needs the opportunity to have some time away from their kids, to remember who they are, aside from just a mother or father. And every spouse needs the chance to remember what they love about their partner, apart from their amazing ability to coerce toddlers into eating veggies, or their astonishing proficiency with a lice comb.

Most importantly, every human being has the right to right to occasionally eat a meal they haven’t cooked themselves, in the presence of other adults, without the need to clean up afterwards.

Just make sure you get all the little bits of sausage off your top before you leave the house.

And for God’s sake don’t waste all your time talking about the kids.