No one wants to gain all of life’s single-girl learnings through personal trial and error, so we owe it to the sisterhood to share life’s hard-won lessons.
Here’s two
One – Don’t date John Mayer. Granted, probably not a stumble we are all likely to make, but bear in mind that girls more famous than us fell into this trap. Rebound guy, professional heart-breaker and kiss’n’teller, Mr Mayer is only useful as short-term breakup-recovery fodder.
Bet Katy Perry wished she knew this before releasing that cringeworthy duet with him. (just google it, I am not going to legitimise it by posting it here)
Two – You won’t meet the man of your dreams on a plane.
Logically, if your airline travel takes you to grown-up capital cities frequented by savvy business travellers, you would think that you’d be more likely to meet an intelligent eligible male with prospects than in a random bar because:
- you are not travelling Garuda Airlines with hordes of ‘end of footy season’ lads clad in Bintang singlets, headed for Bali.
- If you are mingling with the frequent flyers you are likely to encounter the ‘been married but too many airmiles put paid to that’ set who hopefully have no more baggage than that carry-on-limit-flouting mini-tank that they are trying to wedge into the overhead compartment.
ie …its just not to going to happen.
The reason why a long haul flight won’t magically matchmake you with a compatible co-traveller? That co-traveller will be this guy:
One – Mr Chatty
Before you even set butt on seat, Mr Chatty is eyeing off your magazine collection, your paperback, your hand luggage brand and has his head cocked to one side to take in the scent you are wearing. Why? He knows them all. Not in a creepy ‘has stalked you since check-in’ kinda way but because he just knows everything. Period.
Your paperback, only released two weeks ago? He’s read it and he’s going to talk you through it in excruciating detail (ncluding spoilers) before you are even through the safety briefing.
He knows your destination. How? He’s read it upside down from the boarding pass clenched in your teeth as you awkwardly tried to stow your cabin baggage to avoid exposing your midriff (you regrettably wore a T-shirt a touch too short for airline travel).
Re: that destination, he’s preparing to tell you every immunisation you should have had before this journey if your work schedule had only permitted a window to consult with the travel doctor.
There’s no escaping Mr Chatty. You can pull on your fab, noise-cancelling headphones (Note: his are better) and try to watch your fave chick flick where you already know the ending so he can’t spoil it. He’ll still tap you on the arm and tell you the 10 things no one knew about Julia Roberts before the movie Pretty Woman.
Unless you have a large dose of the celebrity-snooze-aid Stillnox, you aren’t going to be able to pass the time easily.
Two – Mr Quirky
This guy is slightly less annoying than Mr Chatty, but will subject you to a long-haul parade of random.
He’s a faith healer that sensed ‘a distortion in your aura’ from the minute you sat down. In reality? That distortion in your aura was the speed-wobbles caused by descending the aerobridge in heels after three sneaky Sauv Blancs in the airline lounge.
He’s a life coach that can sense that you are not in fact on a journey that will fulfil your life’s purpose. (anyone could guess that from the fact that you are carrying a copy of Gourmet Traveller and you are headed to Townsville)
He’s got a fear of travelling that will cause him to grip the armrests, go rigid, and rummage in your seat-pocket for an extra sick bag at the slightest hint of turbulence.
None of these seem to immediately resonate with you.
Three – a colleague
Much as we may enjoy the daytime company of our colleagues and even chit chat over a 5pm beer, no one ever really wants to fly, eat, sleep next to, and wake up drooling beside a colleague on a long-haul flight. There are precious few in the world that I would share that level of intimacy with and none of them are on the same payroll as I am.
No one wants to hear office rumours come back about the weird ‘phhhhrruuugh’ sound that you make whilst sleeping.
I have been known to take extreme evasive action to avoid being seated with a colleague on a long haul flight including (but not limited to)
- Hiding in the Ladies upon seeing a colleague in departures so that they don’t beckon me to join them in a shared check in
- Declining the opportunity to car pool which would again imply joint check-in by suggesting that I was coming not from home but from a non-existent bayside holiday house
- Choosing to travel Melbourne to Singapore via Perth
Do these things. No one wants to find an unauthorised photo of themselves slack-jawed and dribbling on the office gossip’s instagram. (that was so #lastyearsxmasparty)
Four – an eligible version of George Clooney
This all sounds good, and you may have to paper-cut-slice-yourself with the corner of the infight magazine to make sure you aren’t dreaming, but be aware that all you have here is some mocking at the hands of the airline gods.
Why? Pretty as HE may be, these are not going to be YOUR finest hours. You might start all freshly made up, clothing neatly ironed and with the sparkle that is the combination of some bronzer-testing in duty free and a Bollinger in the first class lounge, but its all going to go downhill from here.
You won’t be wearing the skinny jeans that have a spanx-like effect on your thighs, simply because the last time you did this on a long-haul you felt like you gave yourself an entire-lower-body case of deep vein thrombosis. Therefore your thighs will spread horizontally, taking all available real-estate with the zeal of Lindsay Fox reclaming some Portsea foreshore.
Instead, you’ll be wearing a cargo pant. In a stretch this means you have something in common with the off-duty supermodel but only if paired with high heels. You know you won’t do that as you’ve already learned that trying to stuff fluid-engorged feet into stilettos has all the grace and finesse of trying to get a sleeping bag back into its little sack.
No one can do this.
About mid-way during the flight your facial skin, perfectly prepared for the journey with hydration that would green the Nullabor and a raw food vegan diet that would have Gwyneth genuflecting, will FAIL in its ability to wake up with acceptable plane-face. You will look like you put your face into a 90 minute industrial tumble dry cycle on hot. Every hour of plane travel ages you a year. I know this.
So your Clooney-like neighbour will dismiss you from contention whilst ogling your trash-mag to see if there is a Di Caprio cast-off he can snag *
(*men do not suffer the aircraft ageing process)
But don’t despair. Just regard your likelihood of meeting a new partner on a plane as low as snagging an unexpected upgrade from economy to first class, and you won’t be disappointed.
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