The Groggy Squirrel

There’s nothing wrong with being single. I do what I like, who I like, when I like, and thanks to the invention of caller i.d., I literally answer to no-one. But just lately, I’ve been recalling those immortal words of Nik Kershaw, the grass IS always greener over there and now you, dear Reader, can cunningly deduce from my introductory paragraph (and that dodgy musical reference) the double tragedy that not only am I single, I’m in my 30’s.

Which led me to consider internet dating as viable option. I found a reputable site, logged on as a guest and started browsing. Black ones, white ones, tall ones, skinny ones (see how they wiggle and squirm) – there was merchandise here to please every possible palette, but, my tastes are a little more particular, so I decided to refine my search…

I sought a male, between the ages of 32-38, residing within a 5km radius of Melbourne (I’m not fussy). The computer asked if I wanted to see profiles with or without images. Convincing myself that I was a new age, aesthetic disregarding, (what’s the opposite to shallow? Oh yeah -) non-shallow millennium woman, I resoundingly replied ‘No!’ with a flourishing right click of the mouse. No, photos were not important! It’s what’s inside that counts…after all, beauty is only a light switch away!

This admittedly broad search brought up hundreds of profiles. Now for you novices out there, these profiles are usually displayed at a rate of 10 to a page and you get a name, sometimes a photo and a one liner devised to catch your attention. ‘YourMisterRight – are you the one I’ve been waiting for?’ ‘PrinceCharming1993 looking for my beautiful princess to spoil’ and ‘LonelyGuy wondering when my special lady will come into my life?’ (insert grimace and retching sound here). Then, I happened upon the delightfully uncomplicated ‘Saturdayboy – normal bloke, looking for pallaver’ (not only was he familiar with the word, he had used it correctly in a sentence – so far so good!) I opened up his photo-less profile and discovered that he had similar film and musical tastes to my own, had a sense of humour and most importantly, a thorough understanding and application of correct grammar and punctuation (hot). Even more enticingly – there was a riddle at the end of his profile! ‘Find me, plus 4, somewhere toasty’. Now, I’ve read my Famous Five and Da Vinci Code, I knew exactly where he was going with this. Find him – saturdayboy, plus 4 – saturdayboy4, somewhere toasty – saturdayboy4@hotmail.com.[1]

So, feeling rather impressed with my sleuth-like deductions (and even more impressed that I didn’t have to pay any money to the internet host of the site to get this bloke’s details) I shot off an introductory email of my own. I kept it short (just in case I hadn’t actually cracked the code and I was actually corresponding with some other random Saturdayboy4 in a country I’m scared of) yet engaging, and sure enough, the next time I logged on to my deviously devised, non-incriminating alternate email account, I had my reply. He was funny, he was natural, he had laconic charm. I blasted off my reply, full of anticipatory vigour. I concurred with his excellent music tastes, told him a little about my family background, my actual first name, a bit about what I look like (remember, I never had my own profile) and compared myself (in what I thought was a charming, vivacious way) to Nancy Drew. The ball was rolling!

My next message from him had me shaking in my designer boots. He wrote -

‘I think I’m doing some rather admirable detective work of my own, that being a discovery I’m rather confident I’ve made (from your name and description/musical interests etc.) That being that we know each other. I’m XXX from XXX, you know the one! Pretty funny, hey? This town ain’t so big, hey?’

Know each other? KNOW each other? That’s sugar coating it! We’d accidentally slept together once three years ago and regretted it immediately and that’s about where the association started and ended. I felt perplexed, embittered, flabbergasted and other long appropriate words. But, I wasn’t about to let him have the last word – written or otherwise. I quickly drafted my retort -

‘Well, you got me there. It’s not often I’m gobsmacked but, at the risk of repeating myself, you got me there. I respond to one profile – out of literally thousands – crack a code (convenient as I didn’t have to set up a soul-bearing profile) engage in some (in my opinion) witty repartee (thankfully all honest in hindsight) all to discover that I’m corresponding with a ghost of drunken shags past. Now, there are two options here – either this is ridiculously romantic, serendipitous and chimerical OR I have slept with every man aged from 32- 38 within a 5km radius of Melbourne. Take your pick.’

‘P.S. You spelt palaver wrong.’

¹ Clearly, names have been changed to protect the liable, so don’t bother looking it up, Sneaky Trousers.

*You can catch Janelle Koenig during The Melbourne Comedy Festival with Vanessa Bennett in Call Girls