Dating Stories: The Icelandic Horse Lady

I got a Tinder match in Iceland. Not sure why. Maybe because my profile said, “Australian. Not your cousin.”

When we met she said, “Góðan dag.”

I said, “Ah, hello?”

She said, “Sorry, that just means ‘Hello’.”

I said, “Oh, well goon dog to you too.”

She had terrific English. Much better than mine. And the date was going well, I was feeling comfortable, until we started talking about the differences between Australia and Iceland.

She said, “The horses in Iceland are very special. They do a stride no other horse does naturally. It’s called a tolt.”

I said, “A trot?”

She said, “No, tolt. You would call it prancing, but no other horse does it naturally. They have to learn it.”

I said, “That’s bullshit. Icelandic horses don’t have a secret running style that no other horse understands naturally.”

She said, “Yes they do.”

I said, “No.”

She said, “Yes. It’s for muddy places. They walk, canter, trot and tolt.”

I said, “Well that’s just great. It’s about time horses evolved. Humans have been doing all the heavy lifting for hundreds of years. Inventing TVs and airline travel and wi-fi. Why don’t other animals do something for a change. Horses here tolt? Good for them. How about turtles? Why don’t turtles evolve. They’re lumbering around, expecting to be saved by humans. Sure they’ve got their home on their backs, but who cares? I could buy a motor home, it’s basically the same thing. Turtles don’t even know how to run. Horses in Iceland have four running styles, apparently. And what about Mexican walking fish. They haven’t evolved for hundreds and thousands of years. It’s like they’re my grand-mother. She still doesn’t know what the internet is.”

My date said, “Axolotl.”

I said, “No her name’s Dolores.”

She said, “No, axolotl is the correct name for the Mexican walking fish.”

I said, “Oh, good to know.”

She said, “You’re mocking me.”

I said, “No. They’re amazing creatures. I wish I owned one.”

Back at home Mum said, “You’ve gotten a date 200,000 kilometres away and you’re insulting her?”

I said, “No. She lives 16,980 kilometres away, actually. If she lived 200,000 kilometres away she’d be living halfway to the moon. I can’t date someone floating in mid-space.”

Mum said, “I wish you would.”

I said, “And I wasn’t insulting her. I was just saying horses there haven’t created a different stride.”

My date wasn’t embracing the discussion. She said, “Ӕ haltu kjafti.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I found out it meant ‘Oh shut up’, but I took a guess and said, “Do you want an other drink?”

She said, “Nei.”

Right then a New Zealander came into the bar. He’d hired a horse from some stables and wanted to show everyone this amazing running step the horse could do.

I thought it was weird that he’d brought a horse into the centre of Reykjavik, but my date was all for it. She went outside and got a horseback ride down the main street. Prancing the whole way together. So that’s good for them.

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Dating Stories: The Vegan Lady

I took a vegan to KFC. Not on purpose, it was just near the car park where we planned to meet.

Mum said KFC was appropriate for a vegan, “Because they can’t fucking cook.”

I said, “Immanuel Kant, the famous philosopher, his name is spelt with a K, so the acronym could work there, but it’s unfair to say he can’t cook.”

Mum said, “Couldn’t fucking care.”

My date didn’t like the situation either. She said she had to go. She didn’t have a good vibe about the date and she was hungry and had to go home.

I said, “You can eat here. They have peas.”

My date said, “I don’t like peas.”

I said, “Sure, I don’t like peas either. I don’t like baby peas. I’m the youngest in my family I’d hate it someone ate me. I wonder if baby peas have older brother peas that would beat up their younger brother peas and that how you get mushy peas? And I wonder if they have older sister peas that would use their brother’s face as a test site for make-up designs, and take photos, and then post those photos on Facebook, fifteen years later, three times?”

My date didn’t answer.

I said, “And minted peas. They sound rich. Like they’ve got all the green backs.”

I smiled.

She didn’t.

I said, “I actually do like peas.”

My date said she didn’t want to continue the date. She had to go home to eat.

I said, “No. You can eat the mash potato here. There’s no meat in the gravy.” We checked. It is true. My date ate the mash potato and gravy and she loved it.

She said, “Thank you,” and she said she would see me again. She’d found a junk food indulgence that she could secretly have with me.

But I couldn’t see her again, because I googled more and it turned out that the gravy is ok, that is vegan, but the mash potato, it isn’t. The potato has chicken fat in it. The gravy is safe, but not the potato. It’s not vegan.

I had to tell my date. I told her about the chicken fat. She wasn’t so happy then. Vegans can swear a lot. They appear wholesome but they can sweat. But it’s better she knows the truth. And she’s now dating a guy who only eats chick peas. So that’s good for her. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Banana Lady

I hate it when people assume things about me. Especially when they’re right. Like the time I was at the supermarket near me. It has free fruit for kids. It’s not good fruit, not fruit they can sell, but fruit they give to families, because they’re a family friendly store.

Everyday I pass this free fruit it’s a reminder of the family I don’t have. Why should couples get everything. So this one day I took a banana. I was eating it and a security guard stopped me and said, “Hey, where’d you get that?”

I said, “What?”

He said, “The banana.”

I said, “I’m holding this for my kid.”

He said, “You don’t have kids.”

That’s not fair.

I said, “I do. Jimmy. He’s over there,” and I pointed.

The security guard didn’t look. He repeated, “You don’t have kids.”

I said, “Sure,” and pointed at some person. “That’s my wife Kate. She’s minding Tom, and Jimmy, and I’m holding Jimmy’s banana, or nar-nar as he calls it.”

The security guard said, “That fruit is store property. You can’t eat property without purchasing it first.”

I said, “Hansel and Gretel ate the ginger bread house. They didn’t take out a mortgage first. There wasn’t any auction or settlement. They just ate it.”

He said, “You’re going to have to pay for that banana,” and he took me to a cash register and placed the banana it on the scales.

I thought I’d make a joke, ‘cause it was silly, so I said, “Do you want the other half?”

He said to the cash register lady, “This ‘comedian’ here needs to pay for this. It was for the kids,” and so the lady puts her hand on the scale, and I don’t know what product she selected, but that half-banana cost me $49.86, and I didn’t even get to keep it. The bruised, not fit for actual sale, banana got thrown in the bin and I got walked out of the family friendly supermarket.

But before leaving I heard the security guard say to the cash register lady, “Thanks Honey.”

I’d like to assume he’s not being a bit sexist, so they’re a couple. So that’s good for them. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Poop Fetish Lady

I was having coffee with a date. Well, she was having coffee, I was drinking orange juice that I was watering down.

She said, “Look, before we get too far into this, I need to tell you something. Before I have sex, I like it if the guy takes a shit on my chest.”

Now, this took me by surprise. I mean, I don’t suppose it’s normal, otherwise she wouldn’t have pointed it out. It would be for me to have known. After sex she might be all, Yeah that was good but where was the shitting part? You missed a step.

Anyway, I thought I’d be gentlemanly about it. I said, “Oh, is that right? Where did that come from?”

She said, “My last boyfriend.”

I said, “Oh. Do you plan to stick with it?”

Mum later told me, “It’s called a Cleveland Steamer. Which is different to a rusty trombone. That’s when you lick out someone’s arsehole.”

I said, “Thanks Mum.”

My date said, “Yeah. I just seem to like it like that. Do you think you could do it?”

I said, “I’m not sure.” I mean, I’ve never walked by a dog crap in the street and though, You know where that could be better placed? On someone’s chest.

She said, “Well, could you?”

I said, “Just wait,” and then I spent 10 minutes in the bathroom. After that I decided that, No. Shitting on command and then performing sexual acts was a talent I didn’t have.

It was hard for me to break the news to her. Wendy was her name by the way. She said it was okay. She said she had meet someone willing to do a rusty trombone and that she’d settle for that for now.

So that’s good. She’s met someone. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Balloon Ladies

This guy said to me, “It must be great to be single. You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want.”

But that’s not true.

I wrote a letter to Natalie Portman outlining what I wanted to do with her, and she hasn’t replied.

She might be thinking about it.

The awkward thing is, I pretty much wrote the same letter to Scarlett Johansson, and if she writes back, and if Natalie Portman writes back, then I’m stuck, because I can’t afford to take both of them on a balloon ride.

Mum said, “Don’t worry about that. You’re no chance.”

I said, “I could be if I got a good job.”

She said, “No, not the balloon rides. Those two wont write back.”

What Mum doesn’t know is that I sent really nicely worded letters. So they might write back. Then again, they’re in relationships. So they might not. But that’s good. That’s good for them.

Secretly I hope one of them finds out about this, and they write back, just to let me know they got the message, because it’d be nice to get a reply. That’ll be a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Dancing Lady

I was having a beer when this woman came up to me and said, “Do you want to dance?”

Then I realised I was in a Spanish bar, and a guy was playing Spanish guitar, and the empty space behind her was a dance floor.

I said, “I don’t know how.”

She said, “I can teach you,” and she reached for my hand.

I have sweaty hands so I didn’t take it, but I got up and said, “Ok, what do I do?”

She said, “Take my hips.”

So I did, and she started moving, and I staggered after her. She seemed happy. She was happy dancing and swaying.

Mum said it wouldn’t have been real happiness. Mum said, “Dancers fake-smile to make it look easy.”

I said, “She might have been thinking of me.”

Mum said, “No, she would have been thinking of Chris Hemsworth. Chris Hemsworths’s arms, Chris Hemsworth’s legs, Chris Hemsworth’s face. Mmmm. Chris Hemsworth.”

I said, “It’s a bit weird you’re imagining dancing with me while using Chris Hemsworth’s body parts.”

Mum said, “Don’t ruin Chris Hemsworth for me!”

After staggering for a bit we stopped.

My dance partner said, “You have to move to the music. Listen and just move.”

I said, “Okay,” and started to move.

She watched and said, “Is that the hokey-pokey?”

I said, “Yes. You can try it too.”

She smiled, not because of Chris Hemsworth, and started to hokey-pokey, but really well. I’m not good at the hokey-pokey but she was really good, and then this guy came over and took her by the waist, and she stopped hokey-pokeying and started dancing, proper dancing, and they did it really well. Which is good.

I picked-up my book and left.

They were having a good time. So that’s good. A happy ending.

Dating Stories: the Sex Ed Lady

I went on a date with a woman who was very open about sex. She said, “My last boyfriend couldn’t make me cum.”

I said, “Where?”

She said, “Anywhere.”

I said, “What?”

She said, “Orgasm.”

I said, “What’s an orgasm?”

She said, “That’s what he said,” and she laughed, which was great, but it didn’t answer my question. She then asked me to stick my tongue out and wiggle it between my teeth, like I was going to rapidly lick milk out of a saucer.

It was very confusing.

Mum said she wanted to know if I could blow her, which is a weird sentence.

But my date explained it to me. Which was nice of her.

Mum said, “You should go to a brothel.”

I said, “No, I don’t want to. It’s cheating the process.”

Mum said, “You would learn a lot.”

I said, “I’m sure I would.” I was already learning plenty from my date, but I had to say, “Look, I don’t have the expertise you require. You could tell me to stand on a ladder while oscillating an egg and poking my finger into a cabbage, and I’d do it. I just wouldn’t know any better.”

Suddenly she was very interested in me. She started to suggest other things I could poke my finger into instead of a cabbage, and things we could do on each rung of a ladder.

I said, “Look, the ladder thing was a joke. About all I want to do to a women is use them as a human hot water bottle, at least to start with. I’m not comfortable with all this. It sounds like you need a gymnast who’s also a handyman, or one of each.”

She said, “You’re right.”

I said, “I’m neither of those.”

She said, “Yes. Thanks for your honesty.” which is never a good thing.

I hear she’s now dating Jamie Durie. So that’s good. That’s a happy ending.

Dating Stories: The Ukrainian Lady

I got a message form a Ukrainian woman living in Shanghai. She wrote, “Hi, how are you?”

I thought, Well, this is bullshit. No woman would message me.

So I wrote back, “Hey, I’m pretty good. Would you rather be an eagle or a shark?”

The eagle or a shark question is one I’ve asked before. I sounds quirky. The result has been 59% of women prefer sharks, and none of them want to date me.

Yerri wrote back, that’s her name, she said, “That’s an unusual question. How’s the weather where you are.”

I wrote, “The weather is great. Would you rather be a penguin or a duck?”

Mum said, “You know this woman might be an actual person.”

I said, “Yeah, and his name’s Yuri.”

This Yerri person wrote back, “That weather sounds good. I’ve been planning a holiday by the beach. All I need to do is to buy a ticket.”

Sure she, he, they, or the computer program does, but I want to keep my dating miles down, and I’m also not convinced this person is in Shanghai or Ukraine. They’re probably in prison.

I wrote back, “You want to visit Australia do you?”

She said, “Yes. February would be ideal.”

This is how they work. They don’t ask for help. That would be suspicious. They make you want to send money. They give you the idea. That’s inception. Very clever.

I wrote, “February sounds great. You should definitely look me up when you get here.”

But then she didn’t reply. Not the next day. Not the day after that. Silence. We’d been typing every day for four days, and now she wasn’t replying.

So I wrote again. “Oh, hey, I haven’t heard from you, which is weird, I mean you really write back fast, and I was wondering if you’re okay, just checking, nothing wrong, still planning February? I have a place you can stay.”

The next day she replied, “Oh, hey, I found some cheap flights to Macau and booked. Thanks for your offer. All the best. Yerri.”

I Googled Yerri. It’s not a real name. Why would she sign-off as Yerri if it’s not a real name. It’s not like Ukrainians have parents that name their kids Tiannie, or Tylisha, or some self-indulgent imaginative first world spelling problem bullshit name like that.

Maybe she wasn’t a fraud. Maybe Yerri was looking for a friend. Maybe she found one in Macau. Good on her. That’s a happy ending, isn’t it?

Dating Stories: The Carrot Lady

I was in the supermarket trying to decide between two types of pumpkins, and a woman came up to me and said, “I can see you don’t work here, but do you know where the carrots are?”

I said, “Sure, there at the back of the row down there,” pointing in the direction required.

She said, “Great, thanks.”

I said, “Hold on. You have something there,” and I pointed at her teeth, where something green was caught. It was thick, like she had been using her mouth to mow the lawn.

She said, “Oh, thank you,” and picked it out. “It must have been there all day. Do you know how many people I’ve spoken to! Oh my, I just went on a date and he didn’t say anything. I can’t believe it. Nobody said anything. I haven’t eaten all day. It’s so good of you to mention.”

Meanwhile I was in front of these pumpkins and I didn’t know whether I should get the butternut pumpkin or the normal kind. I liked the sound of butternut, ‘cause… butter, but I couldn’t remember if I’ve had it before and if I liked it, and the other one was on special and they looked good, so I was stuck, and this woman kept yapping next to me with her thank-you’s and how-nice-you-are’s, and it was very distracting.

Mum said the women must of liked me. She said, “Women don’t have conversations with people they don’t like.”

I said, “You’re talking to me.”

It was another three day before she said, “See what I mean?”

This women seeking the carrots kept thanking me and I tying to choose between pumpkins, so I said, “Hey, can you stop talking. The carrots are over there.”

She wasn’t happy with that. She grunted, “Arumph!”, and turned around so quickly that she didn’t notice the person behind her, and she walked straight into him.

Broccoli went everywhere, and as they fell to the floor it was like lovers rolling in hay. Except there were buds of broccoli everywhere.

I watched this and decided not to buy any pumpkins, and instead I ran and hid in the frozen food section. While I was trying to decide between 18 different packets of chips, I saw the carrot lady leaving with the broccoli guy. They were picking bits of green out of each other’s hair and clothing. So that’s a happy ending. Good for them.

Dating Stories: The Dick Pics Lady

I was sitting at the bar and a woman slammed her phone down in front of me and said, “Why do men send these pictures!?”

I looked at her screen and said, “Ah, is that the underside of a turtle’s neck?”

She said, “No! You know what that is.”

I said, “Ah, is it an unhealthy snake?”

She said, “No, it’s a picture of a dick!”

I said, “Oh! What kind is it? Is it a turtle’s dick?”

She said, “No, it’s a man’s dick.”

I said, “Gross!”

She said, “It’s disgusting.”

I said, “It sure is.”

She said, “I don’t want to see that.”

I said, “Nobody does.”

She said, “What are you going to do about it?”

I said, “I don’t know. I’ll send out a text to everyone. No more dick pics.”

Mum said, “That wouldn’t work. People don’t listen to you. It’s like that time you cried out for help and no-one came to save you from drowning. When was that again?”

I said, “When I was five.”

She said, “Oh yeah, where was that again?”

I said, “At the local pool.”

She said, “Oh yeah, that was a nice day from memory.”

I said, “Yeah, it was quite sunny. I couldn’t see the ledge.”

Mum said, “We can laugh about it now can’t we. Ha ha ha ha.”

The woman didn’t believe my plan either. She said, “You’re not going to do anything,” and then she took back her phone and started swiping her finger across the screen, which made me feel really awkward.

Then the bouncer came over and said, “Is everything okay here?”

The woman held up her phone and said, “Do you know who this is?”

The bouncer said, “It looks like Bryan. He’s over there. Perhaps you and I should have a word with him.” I don’t know what he was looking at.

She said, “Let’s do that,” and away they went.

So she found her man. That’s good. That’s good for her.