After having friends laugh at my redoubtable dating lamentations over the past few years and an increasing disenchantment with Facebook - I'm succumbing to the temptations to air my opinions, stories and (mis)adventures in single life. I know - it's been done before - Miss Carrie Bradshaw I am not, but dating as a woman in her late 30s and early 40s is alternately hilarious and tragic - full of pitfalls and delights, sometime when one least expects it. Where to start? Delve into the past, project the future, or just delve into the here and now? Perhaps a little of both, with a touch of fashion.
I will attempt to protect the innocent (and the not-so-innocent) - any resemblance to the living or dead is purely intentional - but the names have been changed. I think I will take a leaf out of the book of one of my dearest (and male) friends and refer to the men I meet by their occupation - or a thinly disguised version thereof! Thank you Mr B. This is an exception to my most recent forays into the 21st century revolution of on line dating...

Last week was one of those beautiful juxtapositions between pure flattery and outright horror, so that is where I'll start. Let's call him the Frenchman. In 2007 I was able to take a work trip to the UK for several weeks,and managed to work in a weekend trip to Paris. I think that weekend will be etched on my memory for ever - the hotel shuttle which didn't got to my hotel - the exorbitant taxi fare to get to the hotel - missing train tickets for my trips to England being couriered in in the middle of the night, the nightmare of Charles de Galle airport, cancelled planes and a dozens of Algerians screaming at Parisian airport officials when their flight was cancelled... and the discover that I had left some rather important medication in the hotel room fridge... but I digress. I met the Frenchman on the Saturday night- I was alone in Paris but determined to have a great time - so I was out, and dining alone, He was the bartender.Young, charming, and attentive.
I must have given him my business card - I don't really remember. Fast forward to 2012.

He must have expended a bit of energy to track me down as my contact details had changed. Actually he told me he hadGoogled me, and contacted me when he arrived in Sydney. Quite upfront he suggested he stay at my place. I declined hehehe.He offered to stay in my bed - even when I explained that I don't live alone, I didn't know him and that I would be at work. He kept persisting - even sent me a photo of himself cavorting in the surf.Oh my... EXACTLY my type- rangy, sinewy muscular, blonde, with blue eyes

Countless texts and emails later, I capitulated - to lunch. What possible harm could eventuate from lunch, in public, in the CBD?  One of the strangest experiences of my life... full of Gallic charm, and unrelenting confidence, the would be seducer deployed every trick in the book. Now I'm not going to day it wasn't tempting - I am, after all a red-blooded woman. But I'm not 18 anymore. My body said "yes", but the head reiterated a firm "no"Part of growing up is knowing what is good for one, and what is not. All the "accidental" touches.etc, could not convince me that this would be a good thing. Or that I would be very happy about myself afterwards. There's no such thing as a free lunch - or no strings attached. The repeated invitations to his room began to irk. But the last straw was his entreaty that his girlfriend in France would never know. Incredulous I responded, "But I will". He didn't get it. Or me. I left, bemused, and slightly amused. Retail therapy was required, so I shopped on the way back to the office. The perfect teal dress...

I'm still bemused. I don't consider myself to be anything spectacular by way of appearance. I know I have a slightly more than generous bust line, but what would induce a man 11 years my junior to make such a concerted effort to get me into bed? Life's crazy.