already feng shui-ed my flat; now it was time
to get serious. I was ready for 'Phase I': blind dating.
I thought hard about the mantra I would cite daily,
playing with combinations of words. Finally, my new
mantra for meeting Mr Right wrote itself: I am daring
and dynamic, deadly and desirable.
I launched Phase I at school. I strolled confidently
into the staff room with a sense of hope. Surely some of
my colleagues would have eligible brothers, uncles, exhusbands
or sons who were open to a date with me, the
newly crowned Ms Deadly and Desirable. Most of my
own staff in the history department were middle-aged,
married men with unattractive beards and bellies.
There was nothing about them that suggested they
would be at all helpful in my new quest, but as Peta had
pointed out, teachers from other departments were
bound to have single friends – connections to get me
into 'The Club'. Conscious that some of the older staff
members considered me a floozy simply because I was
single, and that others probably thought I was a lesbian,
because they'd never known me to have a relationship
with a man, I was cautious about who I approached.
I decided to follow the younger, more upbeat, notso-
uptight teachers for a few days, and thought about
how best I could befriend them. The head of the history
department really should mingle more with the English
and maths staff, I thought.
I made my mate Mickey my pilot project. He was
gay, and the only friends of his I'd ever met were
batting for his team, but it was still worth a try. I often
wondered why, as a straight person, I had lots of gay
friends, but few of my gay friends had straight ones.
When Mickey had dinner parties, I was always the only
straight person there. His friends probably all thought
I was a lesbian too. Shit, I really did need to get some
dating happening – not just to meet Mr Right.
Mickey was a well-dressed country boy who wore
R.M.Williams gear with an Oxford Street sashay. He was
gorgeous, single and looking for love, just like me, but
was willing to take all the lust he could get along the way.
Mickey knew a lot of other gorgeous guys seeking that
ideal love, but none of them had proved right so far.
I briefed him on my new mission and all he
responded with was, 'Love, unless you're having a sex
change, I can't help you. And should you actually be
calling it a mission ?'
I'd been ranting about politics and history to Mickey
over cocktails for years, so he knew quite a bit about the
missions many Aboriginal people had lived on under
the Protection Acts. He was right; for many Blackfellas
it was a word that brought back a lot of bad memories.
'Goal' was definitely a better choice. It sounded more
professional, too: 'I've set myself a life-goal of meeting
Mr Right'.
Later that day, however, Mickey grabbed me in the
corridor and melodramatically mimed hitting himself
in the head. He'd forgotten to tell me about his 'spunky
cousin Daniel' – captain of a touch football team. 'He's
single and hot.' Mickey admitted that Daniel was 'a lad's
lad', but we both agreed that one date couldn't hurt.
Mickey added, 'I'm sure he'd be great in bed too.' How
Mickey knew this I wasn't quite sure, and I didn't want
to know. He often slipped into graphic detail about his
own sex life that made me feel uneasy.
'What star sign is he?' I asked, more to change the
direction of the conversation than anything else, but I
was mentally going through my criteria for Mr Right at
the same time.
'God, I don't know. Does it matter?'
'Yes.'
'Well, probably Taurus – the bull.' And he made some
disgusting thrusting gestures, just as the bell rang.
I wasn't really worried at this stage about the star
sign, and there was a spring in my step as I walked
away. Mickey was already on the job. Perhaps finding
Mr Right wasn't going to be that hard after all. I put on
hold the prospect of harassing any of the other teachers
for the time being.
***
Having made minor progress towards my goal, I
to get serious. I was ready for 'Phase I': blind dating.
I thought hard about the mantra I would cite daily,
playing with combinations of words. Finally, my new
mantra for meeting Mr Right wrote itself: I am daring
and dynamic, deadly and desirable.
I launched Phase I at school. I strolled confidently
into the staff room with a sense of hope. Surely some of
my colleagues would have eligible brothers, uncles, exhusbands
or sons who were open to a date with me, the
newly crowned Ms Deadly and Desirable. Most of my
own staff in the history department were middle-aged,
married men with unattractive beards and bellies.
There was nothing about them that suggested they
would be at all helpful in my new quest, but as Peta had
pointed out, teachers from other departments were
bound to have single friends – connections to get me
into 'The Club'. Conscious that some of the older staff
members considered me a floozy simply because I was
single, and that others probably thought I was a lesbian,
because they'd never known me to have a relationship
with a man, I was cautious about who I approached.
I decided to follow the younger, more upbeat, notso-
uptight teachers for a few days, and thought about
how best I could befriend them. The head of the history
department really should mingle more with the English
and maths staff, I thought.
I made my mate Mickey my pilot project. He was
gay, and the only friends of his I'd ever met were
batting for his team, but it was still worth a try. I often
wondered why, as a straight person, I had lots of gay
friends, but few of my gay friends had straight ones.
When Mickey had dinner parties, I was always the only
straight person there. His friends probably all thought
I was a lesbian too. Shit, I really did need to get some
dating happening – not just to meet Mr Right.
Mickey was a well-dressed country boy who wore
R.M.Williams gear with an Oxford Street sashay. He was
gorgeous, single and looking for love, just like me, but
was willing to take all the lust he could get along the way.
Mickey knew a lot of other gorgeous guys seeking that
ideal love, but none of them had proved right so far.
I briefed him on my new mission and all he
responded with was, 'Love, unless you're having a sex
change, I can't help you. And should you actually be
calling it a mission ?'
I'd been ranting about politics and history to Mickey
over cocktails for years, so he knew quite a bit about the
missions many Aboriginal people had lived on under
the Protection Acts. He was right; for many Blackfellas
it was a word that brought back a lot of bad memories.
'Goal' was definitely a better choice. It sounded more
professional, too: 'I've set myself a life-goal of meeting
Mr Right'.
Later that day, however, Mickey grabbed me in the
corridor and melodramatically mimed hitting himself
in the head. He'd forgotten to tell me about his 'spunky
cousin Daniel' – captain of a touch football team. 'He's
single and hot.' Mickey admitted that Daniel was 'a lad's
lad', but we both agreed that one date couldn't hurt.
Mickey added, 'I'm sure he'd be great in bed too.' How
Mickey knew this I wasn't quite sure, and I didn't want
to know. He often slipped into graphic detail about his
own sex life that made me feel uneasy.
'What star sign is he?' I asked, more to change the
direction of the conversation than anything else, but I
was mentally going through my criteria for Mr Right at
the same time.
'God, I don't know. Does it matter?'
'Yes.'
'Well, probably Taurus – the bull.' And he made some
disgusting thrusting gestures, just as the bell rang.
I wasn't really worried at this stage about the star
sign, and there was a spring in my step as I walked
away. Mickey was already on the job. Perhaps finding
Mr Right wasn't going to be that hard after all. I put on
hold the prospect of harassing any of the other teachers
for the time being.
***
Having made minor progress towards my goal, I
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