I went halfway around the world to discover: the boys aren't any more available in Oz. In my travels, I got to know a girl gang of mid- to late-twentysomethings in Sydney composed of women who'd recently been involuntarily relieved of long-term relationships and thrust back into the harsh reality of the dating world:
There was Carol, who woke up one day to her husband of seven years telling her he didn't love her anymore. There was Heather, whose husband just a few short weeks before told her he was no longer attracted to her and admitted to an affair. There was Milly, who'd recently been ejected from a 12-year relationship and was trying to casually date, only to be told by the guy she was merely trying to make her #2--if you know what I mean--that he was "in a weird place right now." There was Jo-Jo, who was having a casual fling with a co-worker--until he got weird about it. The stories went on.
The Conclusion: We're experiencing a global epidemic of commitment-phobia even in situations where no commitment is required. Either that or there's something in the water--no matter which way it goes down the drain.
Signs of Hope: On my last day in Oz, I met a happy-go-lucky Spaniard in Airlie Beach who told me I was a beautiful woman and wants to take me for coffee the next time I'm in Malaga.
Update: As for the loose ends I had going before I left for Down Under: #33 has played out, probably fully; #28.5 has fallen by the wayside as well, but, like a McDonald's Shamrock Shake, he tends to reappear about once a year; and Mr. Available #105? I texted him this evening to let him know I had returned. So far no word. Oh, and I saw My New Crush this evening but the word on the street is he's got some kind of dodgy bicoastal situation based on green card needs.
So it looks like a clean slate for me. I'd better get cracking. Just don't be surprised if the next post comes via Spain.
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