Mr. Unavailable #107: The Hot Captain

Vital Stats: 32-year-old British captain of the Whitsunday Magic schooner located in the Whitsunday Islands, Australia. Aesthetic: Preppy Sailor. Demeanor: Boyishly charming, with the looks to match.

First Impression: "He's the captain?"

Signs of Hope: It was a three-day journey and, having left my emergency make-up kit in Sydney, I'd largely dismissed him as out-of-my-league cute on a too-short journey. In the first few days our interaction was fairly limited except for my lame "Shouldn't you be driving?" joke when I saw him getting tea and a couple of times when he somewhat affectionately (I like to think) referred to me as "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay" and called it "an oldie but goodie."

Then, nearing shore on the last day, he struck up a conversation as he steered the ship and I sat on the box behind him. (Worth noting: another girl was sitting on the box next to me and he effectively ignored her during the whole exchange.) He asked me where I was from, what I did, said he eventually wants to captain a cruise ship and that he loved New York--especially the East Village--and one day wants to live there. And then he said, "I always wanted to marry an American so I could live in America but I missed my opportunity because the friends who would have done probably wouldn't do it now--they're looking for real husbands."

"I'll marry you." I didn't say it, but I came close. A green card in exchange for arm candy? Done. And then he asked if I was going to "be here tonight." I thought he meant the boat, because I was slated to stay on for the next three-day tour (same boat, different crew) but he meant in town because he then said, "A friend of mine is having a birthday party at Phoenix if you'd like to come."

I realized the misunderstanding and reflexively said, "No, I'm staying on the boat."

You might as well have stabbed me right there--might as well have made it messy because that's how it felt. There it went--my big opportunity to buy some makeup and maybe make out. My fate was sealed. No hot captain for me.

Red Flags: I could have sworn the purser made a reference to "the captain's wife" early in the trip, a detail I chose to forget the moment he mentioned wanting to marry a Yank.

Turning Point: Getting back on that boat was just about the hardest thing I have ever done. I still haven't recovered, especially because the trip turned into a nightmarish version of Groundhog Day with a miserable crew and--except for a hilarious brother and sister from Exeter--passengers to match. I did a Phoenix drive-by three days later and ran into one of the other crew members but not him.

Diagnosis: Although denial served me well for a little while, he probably was married. And then there was the fact that he lives on the other side of the world. And has green-card motives. But if he called me tomorrow and asked me to marry him for my American-ness, I'd consider it. My morals aren't spotless, but if you met the Hot Captain, yours wouldn't be either.