Before you write off your relationship as a hopeless cause, there are a few things you should do.

Is your man really a cheapskate?

This is an important point to consider, because in our current economy the fine line between frugal and stingy is often hard to make out. Aside from the frugal variety, there also are many other types of guys, from the ones who have other priorities to the guys who don’t believe they should have to fit the bill just because of their gender and of course, the ones who are just plain poor.

These are all possibilities to consider, because while you may not like it that the guy with other priorities doesn’t consider your nights out to be the most important thing in his life, perhaps he has legitimate reasons for being careful with his money, like an upcoming mortgage payment or a child to support.

Maybe you will find that you have respect for the guy who feels that men shouldn’t always have to pay, because after all, it’s a pretty feminist attitude to have. And lastly, maybe the poor one is just going through a rough patch in his career, but is actually a really great guy. When it comes down to it, you don’t really need a lot of money to have a good time, it just takes a bit of extra planning.

However, if you can safely say the guy you have fallen head over heels in love with is neither of the above, then perhaps it is time to face the music and admit that he is simply a cheapskate, which brings us to our next point.

Is he a cheapskate in more ways than one?

Once you have identified that your new boyfriend is indeed a cheapskate, you have to consider a few factors. First of all, decide whether the guy you have gone all starry-eyed for is just cheap with his money or with other things as well.

How can you be cheap with things other than money you ask? It is, in fact possible, and cheapskates can be cheap in many other areas. Maybe you notice that he only has time to see you when it was his idea and never wants to shift his plans around to accommodate your schedule, although you do so for him. Maybe he doesn’t express his emotions or how he really feels about you, or perhaps he introduces you to his mates as his “just a friend.” All of these are warning signs that this guy is cheap in more ways than one and may not be relationship material.

On the other hand, if you can find no fault with your man, besides the fact that he likes to spend as little as money as possible on every occasion, then there may be hope for you yet. If he treats you well, makes you feel appreciated and values the time you spend together, then his cheapskatism may not be such a big deal after all.

Everyone is different, and being in a relationship is all about learning to accept the other for person their faults as well as their good points. But some people just aren’t compatible with each other. This doesn’t mean that two people have to be exactly the same; it just means that they are able to live with their differences. If you can’t, then you aren’t a good match and you would probably both be happier with someone else.

If you have decided that this is the man for you, and that his penny pinching isn’t enough of a deterrent for you to part ways, then read on.

How to deal with the penny pinching boyfriend

The next step is to make sure that you are both on the same page and understand the other’s expectations. Perhaps he doesn’t realize that you see his behaviour as stinginess, and having an open and candid talk about it will help you understand his attitude towards money and vice versa. This will help you both to strike a balance between being frugal and still knowing when it’s time to fork over the dough.

Another thing you should do is set clear boundaries, to protect yourself, and most of all your finances, from his reluctance to spend his own money. It is always a good idea to keep your finances separate, so that there is no danger of him “helping” you to spend your money. It’s one thing for someone to be penny pinching with their own income, but it’s another thing entirely for someone to be casual about spending yours.

If you are living together you can work out a clear plan of who pays what. Either by splitting all bills down the middle, or having one person paying rent, another person paying utilities, etc. When you go out, don’t always offer to get the check, make sure there is an equal amount of giving and taking on both ends.

Love makes us do strange things, and while you may not mind paying the dinner bill, or “lending” him money every time he happens to forget his wallet while you are out, it is important not to let things become unbalanced. If he automatically assumes that you are going to pay for things, then things are not balanced and the relationship will eventually begin to put a strain on you, both emotionally and financially.

It’s true that money is not the most important thing in a relationship, but the way it is managed can certainly make or break a relationship. Our last parting advice for you is that there is a big difference between being cheap and being selfish. If you can learn to recognize the difference between the two, you will be able to make the right decisions about your relationship.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ally is part of the team that manages some of the most successful personal finance sites in Sydney, Australia, which provide helpful tips about Budgeting Worksheet and  Saving Money.  Before joining the team, she was a Media Planner in McCann Worldgroup Philippines, Inc., wherein she worked on several innovative and globally recognized projects.

By Gaynor Alder

I don’t know about you, but when I was single and traipsing through bars and nightclubs in the early hours of the morning, there was a stereotype of man that I got well and truly sick of. I’m sure you know just the man I’m talking about.

Whilst I was dressed to the nines and demurely sipping on cocktails a.k.a. Carrie Bradhsaw, there was always that specimen who saw it fit to obnoxiously violate my personal space, with a “hello love, how ya goin’?” whilst simultaneously spilling the contents of his drink down the front of my new Lisa Ho top.

More often than not, he’d be closely guarding a beer {although, obviously not closely guarded enough}. Clearly, neither myself or my Lisa Ho top were spending time at the most salubrious of establishments. Either that, or these men had got wind that there were females roaming the city after 3am in an establishment that still served beer?

Whilst these men were not always beer drinkers, many times their breath did concur that they’d been ordering lager at the bar all night long.  And the fact that they’d not only ruined my new $200 top combined with breath that smelt like the floor of a night club the morning after, meant I quickly hot footed it away from them in search of a classier male suitor.

A recent study conducted with Sydney women, has indicated that they view men who choose beer as their drink of choice are boring, predictable, unoriginal and are likely to have a beer belly.

The Newspoll[1] study of 1,000 Australian women, undertaken by Canadian Club in response to being crowned Australia’s fastest growing spirits & premix trademark for the second year in a row, suggests that not only are Australian women over beer, but also over those who prefer it to other alcoholic beverages. The study found that 57% of all those surveyed believe that beer is the most boring and predictable alcoholic beverage that a man could choose to drink at a bar.

They went on to say:

53% of females surveyed thought that it would be a refreshing change from the norm for a man to choose an alternative alcoholic beverage to beer, while among those surveyed who had a partner, 27% say they’d prefer that their husband, partner or boyfriend did not drink beer at all! Men should also take heed when choosing a drink to buy for a woman at a bar or party, as 41% of females said they would be interested in talking to a man who offered to buy them a spirit.”

What are your thoughts?

Do you agree with the study?

When you first meet a man, does it matter to you the kind of beverage he chooses to order?

Do you think that men who choose to drink beer, are boring and predictable?

Would it put you off if you a met a man who had a beer belly and he ordered a beer?

[1] This Newspoll study was conducted online in April among n=1,000 females ages 18-64 nationally

{This post is sponsored by Canadian Club. Visit the Beer Fairies Support Group here.}

My great, great grandmother Emma Postans {what a woman!}

By Gaynor Alder

Mother’s Day is the day we honour our mums. We buy them gifts to thank them for all they’ve done and sacrificed for us – all selflessly and with endless love. But how can you really find a gift that represents that kind of love? Only words can really do that. And even as a writer, I struggle.

They say that we’ll never really know what our mums have done for us, until we become a mum ourselves. As a mid 30s woman who doesn’t have children, I can’t comment on this, but I can only imagine. But I am an aunty, and I have felt that unconditional love. The kind of love that has you get out of bed when you still have sleep in your eyes, just so you can do crafts together. The kind of love that has you push on to play Monopoly when you don’t have any energy left. The kind of love that has you want to run out in front of a car and take the hit, if they were ever in danger. {Did your mum ever slam on the brakes and immediately put her arms over you when she had to come to a sudden stop at traffic lights, like mine?}

On a recent trip back home to Perth, I started looking up my mum’s mum, and her mum on the internet. My lineage. My heritage. The very reason I am here. All that these woman have done, has contributed to the woman that I am. Whether it is nature or nurture, their lives fascinate me. Because without them, I wouldn’t be.

My great grandmother Emily Smith {nee Mortimer} was one of 20. Yes, that wasn’t a misprint, that said one of 20 {my poor great great grandmother sans modern inventions such as pain relief and stretch mark cream}. They were dairy farmers and established an area in Perth, and many street names are respectively named after them.

My great grandmother Emily aged 4, circa 1904 {the limp and frail looking one in her sister's arms}

As a child, I was always fascinated by this picture of Emily surrounded by her siblings. I would stare at it for ages because the reason the photo was taken, was because they thought she was going to die. And I would often remark, how if she had died, I wouldn’t be here, and the number of lives that would’ve been affected because she didn’t live and have her children, who had their children, who all infiltrated other people’s lives. And for the love of God, the sheer logistics -  we’re talking quite a number of horse and carts that had to trundle through the bush to Fremantle, just to get the photo taken. Here’s the full listing of her siblings on Ancestry.com. Grace Ada and Charlotte did well in the baby stake names, but their sister Fanny, not so well.

Emily’s daughter Beryl, was my dear nanna. A beautiful woman who baked apple pie from scratch, made her own lamingtons and whipped up the best mashed potatoes a kid could ever want. Through her cooking and everything else she did, she loved us with all she had. And she did something else amazing. She gave birth to my mum.

My mum, another beautiful woman. A woman who has worked her life to give us the best life possible. A woman who has always put us first. And this gets me back to my original point. How do you thank a mum for that kind of devotion? All you can do is try.

So my dear mum, thank you for every single second of your love. Thank you for all that you have done for me over the past 35 years, to help make me who I am today.

I hope I have done you proud.

Love Gaynor xx

I mentioned a while ago on Living Savvy, that I met some great people at the launch of Rebecca Sparrow’s new book Find Your Tribe (and 9 other things I wish I’d known in high school). What I didn’t get to talk about at that time was the book itself…

Something For Us All – Regardless of Age

The book is promoted as an indispensable guide for surviving and thriving in your teen years. However, despite the fact I left those behind me long ago, I still found plenty to connect to within the ten lessons – Rebecca’s definitely a savvy woman with a very savvy perspective on life!

What is ‘Finding your Tribe’?

The title of the book comes from the first lesson in which Rebecca comes right to the point:

“Life is too short to hang around with bitchy, negative people. So don’t.

True friends are those that support your dreams, cheer you on… They provide a soft place for you to fall and are there to comfort you… real friends don’t put you down or humiliate you… real friends don’t leave you out… real friends ‘have your back’… they’re fiercely loyal and protective…”

Your tribe, then, are those important friends who help you be your best.

The Importance of Friendship to Living Savvy

When we’re living savvy, and aspiring to live an extraordinary life, we need good friends who share our vision, celebrate with us, encourage and challenge us to be true to who we are and what we believe.

We also need to steer clear of those people who hold us back, drain our energy, or try to make us into something we’re not.

Sometimes it’s very difficult, even as a grown woman (as Rebecca acknowledges in her book!), to recognise those ‘friends’ who are not your true tribe, those that diminish you, and then to take action to get them out of your life.

I think the first step to building your true tribe, to answer the savvy question of ‘Who completes me?’, is to know yourself. Who you are and who you want to be?

Final Word

As I said, find your tribe is just the first of ten lessons in Rebecca’s book – she has much more to say about resilience, health and well-being, career, self-image and belief. This book is definitely worth a read as there is a message (or two, or three) in there for all of us, and, of course, it is a fantastic gift for the younger girls in your life.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Bassett from Living Savvy is an executive and performance coach, team leader and facilitator, wife, mother of two spirited little people, big-time dreamer and idea explorer. She founded the living savvy movement to inspire people like you to live your dream life, and to give you the tools you need to make it happen. Click here to follow her on Facebook, watch on Living Savvy TV, or view her You Tube page.

By Gaynor Alder – First published on 13th April 2011

It takes me hours to get ready for a hot date to perfect that effortlessly stylish and natural look. I engage in a starvation diet in bid to lose 3 kilos in a day, requiring one to obsessively step on the scales at half hour intervals through out the day to chart one’s progress. I blow dry and straighten my hair to within an inch of its life; and shave, tweeze and pluck every superfluous hair from my body (including emergency waxing of nether regions).

I obsess about what to wear, trawling my wardrobe and anyone else’s I can get my hands on, inevitably having to do a last minute dash around the shops breathing into a brown paper bag to abate anxiety attacks in quest for perfect shoes to match the outfit. I’m not planning to sleep with him of course (ahem, what kind of girl does that on the first date?) but I make sure I have my best underwear on, because we all know that whenever you wear your everyday knickers, that we’ll end up in the throws of passion leaving yourself a small window of time to warehouse suspect knickers (requiring Lara Croft gymnastic manoeuvres with your feet and his doona) before your trusty well worn cotton briefs destroy the moment.

After the date, having exhausted my repertoire of witty banter and charming display my best self, I ring everyone I know (and more than likely have ever met) to conduct a post-mortem, dissecting the date in every minute detail, trying to ascertain whether he likes me, will he call and furthermore when will he call?

And then nothing.

Not only am I playing it cool to him, I’m also playing it cool to myself.  I’m not waiting for his call I tell myself, whilst I keep busy (even though everything I do is really only a pretend distraction from the fact I’m waiting for his call). I stop to check my messages, but I’m not checking for messages from him, I’m just checking for messages in general.

However, as soon as the phone rings, I drop everything to run and answer it, knocking over anything and everything in my way.  Before answering, I pause to take a few deep breaths in an attempt to sound poised, however it’s not as easy to disguise my disappointment when it doesn’t turn out to be him.

To: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com, 
ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, ness@hotmail.com, amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
From: g@y7mail.com
Subject: Emergency Summit: Why hasn’t he called?

- He saw my cellulite that I painstakingly tried to conceal by only conducting certain flattering sexual positions

- He doesn’t want to look too keen

- He may call during the week – must not obsess, over think this option or hang by phone

- He put the wrong number into my phone – perhaps I should call him to double check?

- He may never call again and I shall endue major blow to my self esteem

To: g@yahoo.com.au
From: hels@hotmail.com
CC: dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com, 
ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, Amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Emergency Summit: Why hasn’t he called?

Ok stop eating now! First of all you need to stop analysing darling – yes I mean right now.  Yes you had an amazing night and would like more but we can’t control what goes on in other people’s minds and definitely not the opposite sex let alone understand it.

I could tell you lots of reasons why he may not be calling but in the end it really doesn’t matter.  You’re fucking amazing and if he doesn’t want to be part of that, well it’s his loss – I know it sounds cliché but it’s true, true, true!

Love me xxx

To: g@hotmail.com
From: dk@iinet.net.au
CC: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com, 
ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Emergency Summit – Why hasn’t he called?

You know my thoughts my love.  He may call, he may not.  That is beside the point.  The task before you now is to find another contender – another competitor for your affections.  I say move on then when he calls you’ll be in a much more empowered position to respond with an air of coquettish indifference.  In my view, you should always have a couple of contenders on the sidelines, but you already know my position on this one.

To: g@y7mail.com
From: sezzy@gmail.com
CC: hels@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.com.au, sezzy@gmail.com, 
ang@iprimus.com.au, kate@hotmail.com, dk@yahoo.comau, ness@hotmail.com, Amanda@iinet.net.au, anita@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Emergency Summit – Why Hasn’t He Called?

You’re not the 711 open 24/7 for his convenience only. I say give him a week, and if he doesn’t call wipe the fucker’s number from your phone love.

Image credits: 1, 2

By Gaynor Alder

My friend recently had a run in with a less than desirable suitor for her affections. There were many warning, warning Will Robinson moments, that we work shopped over the phone, which whilst we flagged as concerns, it was too early in the piece to give him the heave ho. So she decided to proceed with caution under the notion of warranting further investigation.

But the list got longer. And longer.

• He always spoke about himself, and never asked about her
• After spending hours with the GHD and a Gillette razor and looking all round fabulous, he never commented on her appearance
• If he wasn’t the centre of attention, he packed up his Tonka trucks to go play with the other boys and girls
• On their first date, he made a point of telling her how much dinner cost but it was okay, because she could pay next time
• He made insensitive comments, but then told her to stop being so sensitive because he was only joking
• After staying the night, he woke her up on a Sunday morning at 8am to tell her that she was out of milk and needed some for his cereal
• He got grumpy when she had a hangover, because it ruined his day and he could have been out with his friends
• He rarely invited her to meet his friends, and when he did, he neglected to introduce her to them and just plonked her at the table and started to talking to everyone else
• He would never make plans in advance, and told her she was too intense when she wanted to organise what they were doing on the weekend under the guise that he liked to be spontaneous {*cough* bullshit *cough*}
• He took days to respond to her text messages

But the kicker for me, was when he finally went downtown but stopped after a few minutes. When she asked why he stopped, he replied with, wait for it, “Well, how long is it going to take?”.

*Cue kicking the asshole out of her bed, with the pointy end of her Manolos.*

If only Nancy Drew had listened to her initial suspicions. Of course, we’re all screaming in unison, “End this asshole now”. And she did. Not straight away, but end him she did. You see, even though she is a strong-together-take-no-bullshit kind of gal, he had hijacked just enough of her self esteem to have her question herself. One shudders to think of the psychological damage he would have inflicted had she hung around for the long haul.

Yasher Ali wrote a brilliant article on Mamamia, ‘Why You’re So Emotional. Calm Down. Take a Joke. Should Sound Alarm Bells’ and talks about the gas lighting phenomenon.

Natalie Leu from Baggage Reclaim writes some illuminating articles on this topic, which empower women to recognise this kind of “mind fuckery” in action. She also writes a fabulous article on spotting emotionally unavailable men {haven’t we all had one of them somewhere along the line? Mine is still single and unable to commit to anything more than a dental appointment. But he does still think he is God’s gift to women, so as long as he has a mirror, he’ll be just fine} and what it really means when men say they want to be spontaneous.

If you’re dating a narcissistic asshole, I suggest you get out now with your self esteem in tact, before he has the chance to make you feel so worthless, you’ll think it’s all your fault and waste years of your life playing second fiddle to his ego.

{If you liked Natalie’s article, you might also like her book below.}

Image Credits: www.annetaintor.com

MONDAY

Dear Diary,

I have just signed up to Oasis Active to see what kind of men are on these sites. Out of the 300 that responded today with the likes of “I think you’re hot” or sending me animated cartoons of flowers and kisses, there haven’t been any that I have felt compelled to reply to.

Perhaps I should be flattered that so many men have responded to my profile, right? But, it’s more insulting that some of these men who make me want to do a small vomit in my mouth think that they would warrant a date with me?

Let me give you an example so you my diary (keeper of my inner most thoughts) don’t go all judgmental on me and think that I’m a snob. My profile listed my interests as drinking wine in hidden Melbourne lane way bars, vintage glamour, Paris and the likes. So, why on earth would a bogan standing in front of a selection of racing cars in his profile picture respond to me? I also take umbrage to the thought of ever being called “chikkibabe”. I’m sure the ladies are forming an orderly queue.

Male 30 Australia

outgoing like to travel fully cashed up for the right young chikkibabe

TUESDAY

Dear Diary,

This Oasis Active thing is almost as addictive as Facebook. I find myself trawling through pictures and profiles of people I don’t even know for hours on end.

I don’t want to jump the gun, but I think this site is a waste of time. I think there are better odds at the local boozer, although it’s easier to just delete someones contact request if you don’t like them, rather than have to run from them in your stiletto heels, like my friend and I had to do in Perth the other week.

Sure, his offer of a drink was nice and all, but we didn’t realise he was taking us to his backpackers hostel where he immediately showed me his room like it was the penthouse at the Crown Casino, pulled out some cask wine and then proceeded to show me all his Facebook photos. Umm, yes, it’s a backpacker’s hostel – if you were trying to impress me, I would be keeping the fact that you’re living in a hostel when you’re not even a traveler under closely guarded wraps, and secondly, you showing me your bed so early on in the piece is giving me the heebie jeebies.

After photo 86 of 440 I tried to walk back to the table for another “wine” and he got angry. Hmmm, yes, that was the point in the story where my friend and I abandoned our “wine” and made a run for it. I’m not sure what was worse – feigning interest at his kodak moments on Facebook or him catching up to us when we ran away from him and having to spend the next half an hour declining his insistent requests for my phone number.”Listen sunshine, besides the fact I find you repulsive and creepy to say the least, we live on other sides of the country” (note to diary: not that I said that in those exact words, but you get the gist). “But, I really like the look of ya”, didn’t score him any additional brownie points.

a video game arcade, dinner, going bowling, food/cooking, films, sports, no car

WEDNESDAY

Dear Diary,

Do any of these men know how to spell? Sure, I can handle standard text message abbreviations (although if you’re too lazy to write out your ten line profile in full, then it does make me think that you’re lazy in other areas of your life too) but atrocious spelling and grammar is a real turn off. I am a writer, after all.

I finally found someone who I was happy to converse with on the online chat. He then asked for my real name? Was he mental?! I said I was happy to email him directly, but promptly set up a fake email account with my online dating name. As if I was going to give away my identity to some guy I had been chatting with for ten minutes?

THURSDAY

Dear Diary,

I would have thought that clothes weren’t an optional item in your profile picture, no? Especially when they are 18, and I am 34?!? I would have also thought that if you were 18 and not what you would call muscular, that a shirt would be the way forward? Just saying.

I’m also curious as to why women are responding to my profile? Umm, I specified I am a “female looking for a man”. Did she think sending me a picture of her in her underwear was going to make me start batting for the other team?!

I signed up to RSVP to see if there was a better calibre of clientele on their site. Oasis is a free site, whereas RSVP is free to register, but you have to buy “stamps” to actually communicate with people. After trawling through the profiles, they are definitely a better specimen of punter, however still no one I would actually date – although perhaps if I gave it more time, this site might prove more fruitful and there would definitely be less time wasters.

Male 31 Australia
Im Robbi”I ROCK”.EVERY DAY Above ground is a”GREAT DAY”..Play Bass/Vocals in 3Pro Kick Ass bands..Drive Taxi’s(Iv herd&seen it all)”Hahaha..Im Aussie/Italian..Dont smoke..No kids..Very Down to earth..Very Creative/Youthfull…I Beleive there’s a Time&Place for Everything..Dont like Negative people,Cant be fucked with that..Love clubbing&drinking till ALL hours”Hahaha &love kick’n back at home to..Love old Cars..

FRIDAY

Dear Diary,

I have decided to hang up my hat and gloves. I’m thankful that this was just a piece of online investigative journalism, because if I was serious about this online dating malarkey, then the pickings are grim, very grim indeed.

Over and out.

So often we can spot others bad relationships, but not our own. We fall head over our manolos for the wrong men and brush the tell tale signs under a carpet of denial. We get stuck in bad relationships for far too long than is good for us, with our self worth and heart paying a hefty price.

When should you run a hundred miles in the other direction (even if you are in your favourite pair of heels)? 

• He treats you bad and tries to make you feel like it’s all your fault.
• He would rather spend most of his time with his friends or at work … I had one who spent more time with his garden rake than he did me.
• He is a substance abuser. There will always be three in this relationship, and nobody wants to be in a menage-trios with a bag of white powder. His addiction will always be stronger than the love he has for you.
• He puts you down and makes comments that slowly yet surely erode away at your self esteem, leaving him in complete control over your self confidence so that you feel powerless to leave. Yes this old doozy.
• You can’t trust him. Trust is like a delicate china doll – once it breaks you may be able to glue it back together, but the cracks will always be there. If he is untrustworthy, you will end up turning into someone you don’t like very much – a neurotic basket case who ransacks his draws for evidence. Finding what you were looking for doesn’t make it any better either, because he’ll turn it around on you for looking through his things. Nasty and to avoided at all costs.
• You can’t communicate or talk through problems. There’s never any need to yell at the person you love. EVER.
• The downs far outweigh the ups and you are work shopping your relationship more often than a celebrity’s cellulite is on the cover of Woman’s Day. Relationships shouldn’t be hard work god damn it.
• His porn collection is catalogued in month and year order. Call me old fashioned, but there’s something wrong with a man who feels he needs to read or watch porn whilst in a relationship. It’s plain disrespectful – and that’s just what men do doesn’t cut it with me.

• He is an emotional retard with intimacy issues.

How do you know if he’s a keeper?

• He puts you first and loves spending time with you.
• He gets you and loves you for who you are.
• You can trust him implicitly.
• It’s easy. Sure, every relationship may have its moments, but it should be easy most of the time and the moments you have to workshop serve to make the relationship stronger than it was before.
• You can communicate with ease.
• He makes you feel like he only has eyes for you.
• Your love continually grows and beautifully unfolds over time.

… and yes this fine specimen is out there ladies (I know because I have one myself). So stop wasting your time with bad men who don’t deserve your love.

What do you have to add to this list?

By Sarah Kempson

A little boy walks into a living room and goes up to an older lady in the corner chair, who is knitting. ‘Nana’, he says, ‘will you tell me the story of how you and grandpa met again?’ The older lady pulls in the little boy into her lap and begins. ‘Well’, she starts ‘it all started when your Aunt Molly and I went speed dating one night… ‘

Not exactly the fairytale story is it? What happened to meeting Mr Right at a party, having your eyes meet across the room and experiencing the magic of that first glance? More and more, single twenty-somethings (and thirty-somethings and forty-somethings) are turning to alternative methods because Mr Right, or Miss Right, just doesn’t seem to be at the party anymore. Where are all the single people??

I’m here to tell you, I found them. This week, purely for the purposes of research of course, I went speed dating. Ok, I was perhaps cajoled into attending by a friend but every fibre of my being raged against the idea. I’m an old fashioned romantic, still waiting to be swept off my feet by prince charming in a most unconvential way, giving me an amazing story to tell grandchildren in years to come.

At 27 years old, it’s not like I’m getting to a point where my body is screaming ‘have kids before it’s too late!’ and I feel I should sign up for the singles retirement plan, but there is still that longing for someone to share your day with, to enjoy coffee and the papers with on a Sunday morning or stand up for you when your brothers think your new haircut is funny.

It does seem traditional methods are passing me by, and with the ‘man shortage’ in full swing, the idea of speed dating, though still not at the top of my list, seemed a better first point of call than an internet chat room.

A long-time girlfriend, aka Aunt Molly, had been to the speed dating before. I grilled her with questions, not sure what to expect and getting more and more nervous as the day drew closer. My mind worked in overtime, racing between ‘what the hell are you doing?!’, to ‘keep an open mind and you never know what might come your way.’

The emails from the introductions company got cheesier – tips to help your night be more productive, emailing though a photo they would send to you matches to help them remember who you are – I worried that anyone I might meet who needed reminding of who I was perhaps wasn’t worth my remembering in the first place. I remained sceptical.

By the time the evening rolled around, I was in knots. The experience of a first date is scary enough, but twelve dates, limited to 8 minutes each? What if I couldn’t fill 8 minutes? What if we had nothing in common? What if, what if, what if??

The city venue was elegant yet casual and the people milling around appeared relatively normal. There were no extra arms, weird outfits or bad haircuts – just a group of people.

Just. Like. Me.

People who wanted to meet someone in a safe environment, without the added pressure of the bar scene or twenty questions from the best friend.  I relaxed, if only slightly.

The champagne flowed – apparently alcohol assists the (speed) dating process and our host gave us the instructions for the evening. There were to be eighteen dates (holy shit, 18 dates!!) for 5 minutes each, given that 8 minutes would have us at the event until midnight. Suddenly I wasn’t worried about filling 8 minutes, but that 5 wouldn’t be enough.

The ladies remained in their spot for the evening whilst the men moved from table to table. With the shortage of one woman, the guys would each sit out one date, we would have a break at the halfway mark and should we need our champers topped up, just sing out. A bell would ring when it was time to move on. Simple enough.

As we sat at the tables waiting for the first bell to go, my friend and I chatted to the guys sitting opposite us. No harm in starting early was there? General, safe topics were easy to cover – who won the footy and how great has the weather been?, before that little bell rang and conversation turned to work and hobbies.

They say time flies when you’re having fun but it seemed like time didn’t even exist between rings of that bell. Five minutes is barely enough time to order a coffee, let alone find out enough about somebody to ascertain if you want to see them again. It’s easy to be charming for five minutes if you have to be, but 5 minutes is also hardly enough time to get over your nerves and relax. Ticking the box as to yes or no was harder than I thought.

Seated at table one, I met each guy as they came off their break date. They were pepped from a few minutes thinking time – I thought I was going to lose my voice from talking so much. The dates went on and on, eighteen men over a two hour period – more dates than I have had in my entire life, all in the one night.

Questions generally remained the same, work being a scarily popular topic (and giving way to a whole other column on the value we place on ‘what we do’), hobbies a close second. One gentleman told me about some of the more unpleasant dates he had been on, another opened with the fact he had been on the dole. My last date had clearly had far too much champagne over the course of the evening.

They were otherwise a generally good group of guys, mostly professionals or tradies who just found it hard to meet a girl in their busy lives or found the ones they did meet in bars were not the kind you go on a date with, let alone think about marrying. They had the same concerns as I did, they were nervous too and ultimately, we all came out with the same goal, and paid $90 to achieve it. I had to admit it – I had fun.

At the end of the dates, I marked my card with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ for each guy and submitted my form. My answers would be matched with the cards of my dates and the company would exchange the details only of those who matched. Even then, we would only get an email address – the rest was up to us.

As my friend and I headed out to dinner after the event, we chatted about the guys, laughing when we realised we had ticked many of the same men and some of the conversations we had. It was barely 3 hours after the event that the email landed in my inbox with matches. I held my breath – what if there were none?!

Had I talked too much? Not enough? Was I pretty enough? Was my outfit ok? Was I boring? Exciting? I couldn’t believe that I only wondered these things now. The point was, I realised, is that I had been myself and that’s all I – or they – could ask for. Three names came on screen. Three matches.

Perhaps the biggest disappointment was that the guy I had liked the most wasn’t a match. I admit I was a little crushed. What had I done that had made him and the others I selected not choose me? But I remembered why I hadn’t ticked some boxes and realised while they were not my cup of tea in the 5 minutes we spent together, I might not be theirs. I had three interested boys and that is a good night out.

And now it’s up to me. I can email them, or wait to see if they will email me. The power of the internet means I can look them up on Facebook and Linked In to refresh my memory as to who they were (don’t judge me, it is really hard to remember eighteen people you only spent five minutes with!) and there are endless possibilities as to what can happen next.

I will concede, my mindset has changed. While I was adamant that no one would ever meet speed dating, I don’t discount the possibility that it could happen. I surmise that the look across the room when your eyes meet and magic happens can just as easily occur across a table in a room full of people all searching for that same look.

In the end, we are all looking for the magic; the sparks; and in reality, that does take less than five minutes. It only take a look.

Sarah Kempson lives in Melbourne where by day she works in Communications, PR and Strategy, and by night is a fashion and food blogger, unearthing the fabulous things her city has to offer. In her other roles, she is the Fashion Editor for Onya Magazine and blogs at Sarah’s Style Emporium. She also volunteers her time as event coordinator for fashion events and festivals and as an assistant stylist – anything that gets her closer to the action. Follow her on Twitter @sarahstyle to keep up to date with the happenings in her world.

Why? Because I’m used to managing things on my own. Translation – clamming up until I reach breaking point before I ask for help. Hardly a healthy pattern is it? Certainly not smart.

As modern women, magazines have cut through the superwoman myth, telling us that it’s okay if we can’t hold down the career, motherhood and a social life – and god forbid, time for ourselves. But has this really infiltrated our psyche, and allowed the peace of not having to do it all on our own free us? Do we deep down still expect more from ourselves than is humanly possible?

For me, as someone who works a day job, whilst working towards a dream of becoming a financially self sustained writer on the back end of chronic fatigue syndrome for a decade (which I have thankfully recovered from), things sometimes fall through the cracks.  And, holy hell, on top of that I beat myself up for not having frizz free hair seven days of the week, perfectly manicured nails or tending to my laundry basket as much as it demands.

As much as I know many of these things don’t really matter, they still quietly wreak havoc on my psyche and have a picnic terrorising my thoughts:

Psyche:  “Seriously, are you really going to leave the house with hair looking like that?”

Gaynor: “Oh, but please just let me hit snooze on my alarm a little longer. Pretty please. I’ve been working hard all week long.”

Psyche: “And tell me, what are you going to do about that bag of dry cleaning that has been sitting in the corner for weeks?”

Gaynor: “I promise I will get to it soon. How does tomorrow sound?

Psyche: “When was the last time you called your friends? They’ll disown you soon.”

Gaynor: “I know, yes, I’m such a bad friend.”

Instead of calling a friend when life gets on top of me, I bottle it up and try to manage it all on my own. This is especially crazy when I’m surrounded by beautiful friends who would give their right arm to listen to and support me, as I do them. So why don’t I lavish the same love on myself, as I do them?

Perhaps it’s just my DNA. The way that I am. But, there’s also my inherent fear of burdening people after being burnt by some shabby friends in the past, and not wanting to be judged when I lay things out exactly as they are, no holds barred.

However, those friends who weren’t there for me and showed me their true colours are no longer part of my present. The friends who are in my life now, all offer something different, but one thing is consistent – they love and respect me and want what is best for me – and they will never judge.

This is the beauty of friendship – we have different friends we can turn to for different things. One will comfort you and make you feel safe as you let down your guard and cry into a box of tissues. Another will shake their pom poms for you and give you advice to help you get back up and reach for all that you deserve. Another may dish out some tough love when you need it most (but in just the right way for you). Another will crack a bottle of vino and light your cigarette as you grapple with a crisis. And another will spend hours on the phone with you, just listening and letting you pour your heart out to them so that you can find the strength to dust yourself off and keep on going.

No matter what type of friend they are, one thing is for sure – we can’t do this thing called life without them. We are not superwomen and we can’t do it all on our own. So stop beating yourself up, yes, right this very instant, because no matter how together everyone around us may look, we all fall down. We all struggle from time to time. We all have moments when we think we can’t cope. However, one thing is for sure, it’s our friends who keep us going.

But don’t forget, the very best friend you can have in this world is yourself. So when that little voice in your head starts giving you a hard time, give it its marching orders, because, hell, we can’t always be frizz free god damn it.

Image Credits: 1

Want to win a VS Sassoon Goddess Slimline Hair Straightener? Well, we here at The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide want to hear about your best and worst dates. Simply leave a comment below and tell us about the date that had you running to the toilet to call a taxi and the date that left you weak at the knees.

Me? My worst date without a doubt is the guy who told me after thirty minutes that he could channel birds. Yes, that’s right, apparently he and the birds could talk to each other. Needless to say, I made like a seagull in the quest for a hot chip and got the hell out of there. There was half an hour of my life I couldn’t get back.

Luckily, my best date didn’t involve convening with wildlife, rather it was a scene straight out of The Notebook. After dinner we walked down to the beach, and when we turned around at the end of the walk there was a sunset accompanied by a rainbow. We then danced cheek to cheek under the gazebo whilst we hummed the music (and he busted out some pretty good moves I must say) and then we sat down and looked out over the ocean for hours. (The night he grabbed me as I was about to cross the road on Flinders St, and kissed me in the rain for a good five minutes with traffic and people passing us by, wasn’t too shabby either.)

What’s your best and worst date?

Oh, and if you have a dating or relationship dilemma/problem that you’d like the MWSG, our new resident relationship expert (qualified psychologist) and readers to answer, simply click here to send it to us. Names will remain confidential.

CONGRATULATIONS TO LYNNE LILLINGTON, THE WINNER OF THIS COMPETITION.

This competition is now closed. Click here for current competitions on The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide.

The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide could just be the Holy Grail to the greatest mystery that man has pondered since his banishment from the garden of Eden- the female psyche.

To men throughout the ages, women remain the most puzzling, alluring, complicated, breathtaking and frustrating spectacle he has ever encountered. Even more so this enigmatic creature handles everything life throws at her with elegance, grace, a bit o’ gumption AND does it in shoes that defy every engineering principle known to man.

How does she do it? They turn to the virtual oracle of beauty and wisdom, Gaynor Alder. The resplendent Ms Alder takes a nail file and tweezers to the real issues facing many women today and rediscovers lost wisdom, timeless poise (and few rogue hairs in places that defy belief), to help today’s modern woman embrace her new social status as the queen of freakin’ everything . In doing so she just might educate a few curious male readers along the way…

As a naturally giving person, I’ve attracted many people in the past who’ve wanted to latch onto what I have to offer. However, these types of people left me drained, and were often big black holes who didn’t actually want to solve their problems for themselves, but rather wanted me to solve their problems for them.

As anyone in my inner circle knows, it’s VIP entry only to walk down my red carpet. It may sound harsh, but au contraire, once you are a friend who gets past the bouncers and shimmies your way up behind the red ropes of the VIP bar, I’ll lavish you with more love than you’ve ever known. Nothing is too much trouble. Your problems are my problems. Your happiness is my happiness. I’ll walk the end of the earth for you. And I’ll expect nothing in return.

But, only so many people can take this place in my heart, and rightfully so. The people in my inner circle are there for a reason. They are not only fun, fabulous and beautiful, but they have substance. They have my best interests at heart. They have integrity. They have loyalty. They are there for me too.

However, there are many who have tried to infiltrate the walls. Some have slipped through, and whilst they may have hurt me with their shallowness or drained me with their problems and done my head in with their crap, I’m safe in the knowledge that they never scaled the heights of the women I call my besties. The women I share my all with. The women I love more than life itself. The women that will always be there no matter what.

I believe that we all need to set standards for the friends we have in our lives, and take a zero tolerance approach to sub standard specimens trying to infiltrate our inner circles. Not in a Paris Hilton kind of way, but in the name of self respect for ourselves.

Sex and the City coined the term frenemies, and it’s a term I think we all have a lot to learn from. There are people who on the surface may seem fun and giving, but delve a bit deeper, and they are engaging your friendship for all the wrong reasons. Whether they are secretly envious of you, want something that you have that they don’t themselves, suffer with low self esteem and latch onto you to be their counsellor, or are just good time friends, these types of people need to be kicked to the kerb. Now.

Friendship, real friendship is rare, which is why many people say they can count them on one hand. I’m lucky enough to count mine having to use my second hand as well. When these friends come to me with a problem it never drains me. For, they mean so much to me, more than anything else in this world, that helping them through what they are going through is a joy and a privilege. Because them being happy, makes me happy, and when they are not, I will do everything in my power to comfort them, uplift them and make them feel better.

Life is too short to share it with people that bring you down and offer you nothing in return. Life is too short to spend time with people that don’t have your best interests at heart. Life is too short to be around people who are only ultimately in “friendship” for themselves.

So, what stops us from rightfully cutting these people out of our lives? Guilt. Guilt, namely because we don’t want to hurt their feelings. But what you need to ask yourself is why you are compromising yourself and your feelings for the sake of someone who doesn’t consider your feelings when they do they what they do, over and over again, to compromise you?

Do you have any one way friendships in your life that drain you?

For even the most discerning of us, can fall under the spell that these men weave. However, once she was enlightened to the fact that he was offering her nothing more than a SAO biscuit covered in pink icing (did your mum ever try to pawn off vanilla slice as sao biscuits with pink icing and custard?) she quickly deleted his number from her phone.

She may have been kicking herself like a Prada lover bypassing a half price Christian Loubiton on sale, but at the end of the day, she’d still be wearing Prada. So next time a guy wearing Windsor Smiths approaches you attempting to blind you with his verbal gymnastics, you kick him to straight to the kerb.

The Ego Maniac sustains “relationships” purely to feed his ego. If you’re interested in him, then he isn’t interested in you, but if you’re not interested in him, then he suddenly becomes interested in you.  He will then chase you incessantly, only to dump you as soon as the challenge is over leaving you hiding under your doona and nursing a serious blow to your self esteem.  If that isn’t bad enough, once he senses you’ve gotten over him, he will start tugging at your heart strings and playing mind games with you, in order to gratify his ego once again.  You never know whether he likes you or not, as this is the game he plays with you to keep you hooked on him.

When you’re eventually happily married to your soul mate, the Ego Maniac will still be out there trying to hold down relationships that can never compete with his ego. He’s a textbook case and there will never be enough room in his life for anything more than himself and his ego and the poor girl who may end up with him will always play second fiddle to this.

We’ve all had one somewhere along the line.  Mine is still single and unable to commit to anything more than a dental appointment.  Every now and then he sends me the odd text message in the hope it will remind me of what I’m missing, just in case I’m not happy with my perfect, drop dead gorgeous, intelligent, funny, kind and caring partner who worships the ground I walk on and bows before me as I enter a room.  In saying that, he does still think he’s god’s gift to women, so as long as he has a mirror he’ll be just fine.

You deserve more. It’s time to make these men history and let them learn the hard way that you can’t always get what you want and only the good guys get the girl in the end.

A friend recently wrote to me lamenting on the scars we have endured from past relationships, and how instead of trying to dispose of them, we should savour them for the growth, beauty and splendour they inevitably inspire in us as we reach new relationship heights.

Whilst horticulture is a dirty business, one can infer it is most important to keep your roses regularly pruned and the weeds at bay to ensure each petal when in bloom is admired for its unique beauty and the alluring fragrance captivating.

Without this cultivation one’s rose bush is merely a lecherous host for the thorns, which to an inexperienced green thumb  is a constant invitation to repeatedly prick themselves. As each prick becomes more painful the inexperienced green thumb soon learns that nurturing the rose bush will enable it to grow,  and when it begins to blossom in all its splendour the once lecherous thorns now beautifully compliment the new bloom and beckon to be picked to enable new growth. It is then the stems are delicately trimmed and the thorns tendered to ever so gently and adorned in a vase in all their beauty.

Fark we suffered a few prickly farkers along the way - many a night spent entertaining each other’s analysis paralysis. In the event the sorry prick engaged your tears a slow and painful assassination was plotted and agreed that execution would only occur when the dish was ready to be served frozen.

My emotional scars (ugly) are now commanding the respect they deserve and as such, request a safe place near my heart. I never quite realised how precious they were, and to think I was desperately trying to dispose of them. How did I get this so wrong?  Who would have thought this romance gig could be like this, I’ve definitely got this new one right, he is so a keeper, in fact I should find a safe place to keep him.”

I couldn’t have put it more eloquantly myself. Love. Her. Work.

Image Credit: 1

For the past few years I’ve been a coquettish minx of the night, kicking men out of my bed with my Dolce and Gabanna heels and avoiding commitment like someone had just asked me to chew off my own toe nails.

But now I find myself with a real competitor for my affections, and it’s left me running for cover. For someone who has been able to conduct casual sex with the utmost of finesse, and get in and out (literally) without so much as flicker of emotion (yes, that was great, but please don’t be calling me or anything annoying like that) I was floored when I found myself kissing the man in question in the rain on Flinders St for a good ten minutes with traffic and people passing by and dancing under a gazebo whilst he hummed the music in my ear like a scene from The Notebook. There in those moments, time stood still and my heart burst open, and it was exquisite.

How the feck did this man manage to infiltrate my walls, and succeed where no man has before? Why is my heart shutting down again, and is it possible for me to open it again, and let love back in. Yikes! Did I just mention the L word?

I have known the man in question for over a year, but never for one moment did I think he was romantically interested in me. That was until he told me one night how he felt about me, and I was floored beyond belief. You might as well have told me that Jordan had given up botox.

I of course gave him a one night only pass, but he refused and said that I deserved so much more than that. Had he lost his marbles?! He was turning down a one night stand?! However, t’was not 5 minutes later that there was a knock at the door, after telling the taxi that he just got in to go home, that he was passing up the opportunity of a lifetime and that he was getting out.

The one night stand became a window of 3 strikes you’re out, to the status of “summer fling”. Even after spending a week together house sitting for a friend, I was still as cold as ever on the romance front. But then something changed. I started talking to him online at night.

It was in these conversations that I discovered someone that in all the time that I known him, I had never seen before. Deep. Beautiful. Tender. I won’t tell you all the beautiful things he said about me, because they are private, and he is the kind of person that holds things close to his heart, but I will tell you this. They came from a very pure place. So pure that they moved me to tears.

We started going out in the evenings. Walking on the beach and watching the sunset. Going to dinner. Sitting on the foreshore and watching the moon’s light glisten over the glassiness of the still and calm water. Just being with each other and spending time together. Laughing. Talking. Oh, and yes let’s not forget the dancing.

This is all sounding so swimmety swell, so why are you not falling head over your manolos for him, and why on earth did you run out of the car the other week and tell him to forget about you?

Well, I wish I had more control over my heart, but I don’t. You see, I had to shut it down in order to cope over the past few years. It was something I had to do for self preservation until I could get myself to a position of strength, and I here I am.  Yet, the thought of romance now entering my life has me spiralling out of control, and my heart has become so good at protecting itself from myself, that it goes into auto pilot and pushes away anyone or anything that resembles romance.

But, it’s time to start talking to my heart, and telling it just exactly who is boss. For, I can’t let it hold me back anymore. There will be some hoops to jump and emotions to move through, but if I don’t do it, I will stay where I am now. Sure my life is grand, and I am happy, but my heart is numb to love and romance, and it’s not who I really am.

For I believe in love. It’s more important than anything else, and it’s the driving force in our lives. For people don’t remember when you die how much money you earnt, the targets you achieved at work or the house you lived in – they remember how you made them feel and the love that you shared.

I also have someone in my life who puts me first. Who adores me. Who worships the ground I walk upon. Who gets me. Who is trustworthy. Who is willing to be patient with me as I work through this and put his heart out there knowing that there are no guarantees, knowing that I may come out the other end and he may not be the one for me. But I tell you this, no matter what happens, he has made me feel more special than anyone has ever before, and I’m sure there’s something in that.

Dear June and Alan,

I was thinking about you both over Christmas, and today I find myself ever so sad and shedding tears that you are no longer with us. I spoke to my friends about you at Christmas, and told them how much I missed you, and they told me to cherish the beautiful time that we did have together.

But, it doesn’t mean that I still don’t wish that we could spend more time together. Make more beautiful memories together. Because that’s the crap thing about people dying. You always have your memories, but the longing to be with them again never goes away.

I can’t tell you what I’d do to be back in your beautiful home in Churchdown in England. I always felt so safe there. So loved. So happy. Then there was all that fun we had together. So much fun.

I think about going back to the UK, and I don’t think I could do it. Because without you both there, it would just make me ever so sad that I couldn’t hop on the National Express and visit you. England to me is nothing without you. But then, there are Mary and Bob, your friends of a lifetime, that I know would be so happy to see me, as I would them. Your niece Rachel, your sister Marion and your son Adrian, his wife Clare and your grandson Archie. Together we would raise our brandy glasses and reminisce. I hope they are all doing okay without you both.

There are so many people here in Australia who I know miss you just as much as I do. I spoke with your son Darren on Christmas Day and told him I was drinking my wine out of a brandy glass on Christmas day in honour of you both. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him and Regina, Megan and Ellie, this first Christmas without you both.

Death is one of those parts of life we must accept, but it still sucks. Losing you both within 3 months was incomprehensible, but I know that you are both together now. I never could imagine you without Alan – despite how much of a brave front you may have been putting on.

You were both so beautiful. So lovely to me. So kind to me. I will never forget it.

Love Gaynor xx

P.S I still email you all the time with all my news, just like I always did. Even though you can’t reply, I know that you’re still always encouraging and supporting me.

Image Credit: 1

*Allegra has written to ask Gaynor, Editor-in-Chief, and her readers if they can help with her romantic crisis.

“What began as a quiet, friendly conversation with Mr. Z quickly escalated in a ping-pong match of commonalities. You see, after only moments of cheeky flirting, we discovered numerous mutual friends from various states and to top it off, we had similar moving patterns: Queensland, New South Whales and now Victoria. Game. Set. Match.

Needless to say, we swapped digits and arranged a ‘date’ over breakfast. Bliss! Right? Well, unfortunately not. My fellow ping-pong professional was not on form at all come date day. In fact, he didn’t even show up to the game.

Determined to not let this man get the better of me, I sent him a ‘I don’t care that you ditched me but am worried for your safety – perhaps you were struck by lightning’ message. He wrote back, thank goodness, asking to reschedule. I accepted.

Come our next engagement, he cancels – 10 minutes before meeting time. But before you gasp and start rambling insane profanities at the screen, hold up, it gets worse. His reasoning behind said cancellation is that he had a fight with his girlfriend and  really wanted to come but, ‘sorry’. Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND? I was gutted. Mr. Z you are a dog.

Fast forward to three nights later and I’m walking on the beach with him, gazing gaily into the starry sky. Please don’t ask how or why, it just happened. He called and I was screaming yes down the phone before I could gather any coherent thoughts and stop myself.

It was a lovely evening. He was sweet, funny and played all the moves. And his moves were good, let me tell you. Good enough to see me leaving his house at 4.30am with a smile plastered on my face and a message on my phone telling me to drive safely.

I’ve seen him since and he treats me like I am the only girl in the world. But I am a bundle of confusion and guilt.

His relationship? Well, it’s still ‘Facebook official.’

Do you have any advice as to what I should do?”

Can you help Allegra win this ping pong match?

Image Credit: http://www.annetaintor.com

As a woman who has no current interest in a relationship, I’m not impartial to the odd well timed one night stand. I love leaving the next morning and walking down the street with a bounce in my step looking like the cat that got the cream.

But too many one night stands and I would start to feel like a tart. I could also do without having to navigate strange men’s bedrooms praying that they have clean sheets; avoiding the awkward exchanges with their flatmates in the hallway whilst running to the toilet in the middle of the night with nothing but a sheet wrapped around my naked body; and also searching for my knickers in the cold hard light of day, so I can put the rest of my clothes on and get into a taxi.

Enter the FWB – Friends With Benefits. Whereas an FB is a straight sexual transaction (you’ll be pushing it to get breakfast in the morning), the FWB is no strings attached sex, but with the added bonus of being able to go to a movie together, do dinner and have an actual friendship. The FWB is one step away from the SBF (surrogate boyfriend), but that’s another story in itself.

But it’s usually nothing more than a concept, because in reality it will nearly always go pear shaped (just ask Jerry and Elaine). However, occasionally, v. occasionally, someone is able to pull off casual sex without eventually wanting more than a good shag on Wednesday night. Yes, they can act like a lady, yet have sex like a man (thanks to Steve Harvey for helping me to coin that phrase).

Well, that woman is me. Somehow in my 30s, I have the act of casual sex down to an art form. I can do the mercy shag with a friend, have one night stands and even repeat sex with the same person, without getting emotionally attached. How do I do it? Besides being rather emotionally closed off to romance, I know how to choose the right subjects and how to outsmart oxytocin. Oxy what, you ask? Well, there’ll be more of that in my book (I do apologise for being like a reality TV show – “we’ll be back just after this break to tell you whose been evicted”, but I know you’ll forgive me).

I’ve had my FWB since 2007. We’re the best of friends, hang out, look out for each other, and, oh, we have sex too. He’s the relationship without the relationship. Now, many of my friends think he is a real catch – and he is. But we could never be with each other romantically, and we both get that. We are more like best friends on school camp together, sneaking up to the top bunk in the middle of the night with our torches and counting out our lollies together . I am sure if we hung out when we were 8, we would have ridden down to the lake together to catch tadpoles after school. Oh, and, yes, we do a lot of laughing together. Like last night when we walked down to the 7/11 in the middle of the night to buy slurpies, whilst retelling jokes from the Steve Harvey stand up we had just watched.

There is no romantic commitment and we’re both free to sleep with other people (but our friends are off limits, because that would be just wrong). Not that we do sleep with other people all that often, because, let me tell you, we got it going on in the bedroom. There’s no head damage, no expectations of each other, no hour long phone calls to friends analysisng where it’s going, and wondering if one of us has feelings for each other (yes folks, I did that a lot in my 20s). And, no, I’m not in denial. It just is.

Come on, surely there must be a chance between the two of you? Everything sounds so peachy keen, you must have thought about something more with him. Well, sure, I am sure both of us would have considered it at some stage early on, but now, we both emphatically know that we’d drive each other nuts. Like really nuts. I could tell you all the ways he irritates the hell out of me, and the things I do that get him going, but then we’d just sound like an old married couple. We’re just wired differently, and we accept that. I like calm and easygoing, and he can be uptight ( he would beg to differ and will probably yell out, no, I’m not, when he reads this, but he is). Don’t worry, it won’t end our friendship, actually, it’s a bit of an injoke between us.

Sure, I will probably flip out when he meets someone who he wants to be in a relationship with (I know Katie is on standby for that phone call), and vice versa . That’s only natural. There’s still a bond between us that will be broken when one of us finds someone else, but we’ll both genuinely be happy for each other. Because he deserves someone special, and he feels the same way about me.

Ultimately the reason our arrangement works is because of who we both are and where we are both at, and I concede it’s a rare combination. I too have tried casual sex in the past (namely my 20s) and seen the best of intentions unravel. The key to a successful casual sex arrangement is choosing the right person, who understands that there also needs to be respect in the situation, which is why I much prefer an FWB to an FB in my hour of need.

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Whilst some men were fun to chat with for the evening, some were plain repugnant. The Physical Education Teacher from Britain needed to brush up on his repertoire – “Is that your drink?” wasn’t exactly the path to my heart, especially when his lack lustre chat up lines were delivered with a mouthful of spit – he turned conversing into a new sport, where one had to duck and dive his every word.

But, he was tolerable compared to the two “men” who thought stealing my hairspray and lighting it up with their lighters was fun. “I’m sorry we stole your hairspray, let me buy you a drink.” “Okay, sure.” Ten minutes later …. “Can we have your hairspray again?” “Look, listen here. I accepted this drink on the premise that we had moved past the hairspray. Now you’re just pissing me off. The drink doesn’t mean that much to me you know.” I of course promptly walked away. I am then tapped on the shoulder by one of his equally charming friends who says, “Gaynor, you know that guy you were talking to is the owner of this place”. “Umm, that’s supposed to mean something to me because…?”

Quickly moving establishments (working on the theory of a different postcode providing a better standard of male clientele), I was soon to meet Adrian. Sweet, adorable and cute little Adrian. Sweet, adorable, cute and TWENTY year old little Adrian. Ding, ding, ding – stop the bus!! I could almost be his mother (well, not quite, but I am sure sleeping with him would be illegal in many countries).

He followed me around all night like a puppy dog, and I danced with him for a little while because he had some good moves, and, well, his continual disbelief that I was 33 didn’t do him any harm either (nor my ego truth be told, even though it knew it was being duped by the flatter them so they will sleep you tactic).

I did draw the line when he led me away by my hand to ask, “So, are we going home together tonight?” “No, Adrian, we won’t. 1. You are jail bait. 2. You live with your parents and 3. I don’t think your equipment is up to the job.” I did admire his optimism though.

I saw the look of disappointment wash over his poor little face – he was thinking of all the things he could learn from me in his bedroom, whilst I was thinking of it being all over in two minutes when the excitement of him seeing my exposed bra strap became all too much for him (that was of course after he would of quickly ran into his room and hid all his pornography under his Spiderman doona). I’m sure he’ll be a lady killer one day – just give him a few years.

Across the other side of town, on a different night, my partner in crime was being wooed by a punter of her own. 33. Barman. Model. Writer. You can just imagine the smoothness in which he moved in to initiate conversation, before subtly plying her with free drinks. I’m sure I could fill in the next few paragraphs will all the charming and witty things he said to seduce her but let’s cut to the chase. They went home together. Oh, but, yes, there is one important part of their conversation I must point out – he was single, of course.

So, they head to her place, but when he gets into her bed, he places a very strange order – “Would it be okay if we just cuddle?!” WTF? It reminds me of the case of the “hand holder” I heard about the other week – a girl I know went on a few dates with a guy who proceeded to tell her he has a girlfriend, so they can go out together and hold hands – but definitely no sex. She promptly replied, “If you’re not going to the destination, get off the bus, you’re holding up the queue”.

So, here’s this guy laying next to a woman who looks like a Victoria’s Secret supermodel, and he only wants to cuddle. Right. Okay. Let me get my head around this. You are of the understanding that this is a one night stand, and that you weren’t invited up here to read me your poetry. Hang on a minute. You do know what a one night stand is don’t you?

After fumbling around more awkwardly than a teenager having sex for the first time who is also trying to not wake his parents, he decides that he may just take the bus ride to the final stop. One problem. One big problem – or should I say one little problem, one very little problem.

During the obligatory post mortem on the phone next day, we ascertain that he must either be gay, lying about his age (google searches quickly disproved both those theories) or just hideously inexperienced. Understandably, my friend (let’s call her Victoria for the purposes of this article) is suffering from a serious case of buyer’s remorse. She went in for a night of wild reckless abandoned sex, and all she got was a face full of pash rash (now boys, that’s just plain bad manners).

To add insult to injury – she had to drive him home in the morning, and instead of scuttling out of the car like a rabbit with this tail between his legs – he sat in the car to chat for 20 minutes. Chat? I would have booted him out in my Dolce and Gabbana heels quicker than you can say “can I get your phone number?”

It was upon her arrival home, that the real horror set in. Pash rash, pimples, no make up and no tan. Now, she was really hell bent on redemption – and it was nothing that a pair of Bettina Liano jeans and a pair of 5 inch heels couldn’t fix.

Walking back into the bar a few nights later in said outfit, she came face to face with the perpetrator of her facial disfigurement, and also with the face of his what do you know – girlfriend. It was time for an assassination – this one needed to be taken down for the sisterhood (and don’t we love her for that) – to protect other unsuspecting girls like the one waiting for him out on the couch, who is of the belief that her financially struggling yet deep and meaningful artist of a boyfriend is a keeper.

Fueled by his casual admission that he sometimes has 3 to 4 girls on the go, it was time to bring out the big guns. “You know that pash rash you gave me and the staph infection you thought you had on your lip, well it’s actually a fungal infection.” Terrified of anything ruining his model good looks, he desperately inquires as to what he should buy from the pharmacist (being that Victoria used to be a nurse). She promptly instructed him to buy Daktarin (tinea cream for your feet) and to apply it religiously on his face, at least 10 times a day. Model Boy won’t be strutting down the catwalk anytime soon.

What I think we have here ladies, is a new breed of man. Cut from the same cloth as “Dirty Lying Bastard” – this is the cheater who believes that only going to 2nd or 3rd base isn’t cheating, thus they can cheat without guilt. This way they can have their cake and eat it too, and what harm does it do anyone they ask? Why ever didn’t they think of that before I wonder?

Ladies, beware of the “Hand Holder” – coming soon to a bar near you.