THE SYDNEY JOURNAL

I HAVE ONE WORD FOR YOU… WAG

All eyes were on him. And now it seems all eyes were on us. He runs his fingers through his perfect wavy locks and greets me with, ‘I like your lipstick. What colour is it?’ I respond, ‘Pink.’ Great chat, Simone.  God, this guy is massive. ‘Would you like a drink?’ I respond, ‘Sure’. Great chat, Simone. Really well done. Is he hot? Yeah, he’s hot. Tall? Very, very tall. Smart? Okay, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves now. I can sum this up in one word for you … WAG. Get comfy, this is a good one. Ladies, please meet, JACK*.

December 2013. That ship has sailed.  Dammit! I just missed the boat for my work Christmas party – a sunset sail around Sydney Harbour. Complimentary cocktails, bubbles, canapés. Dammit. Hmm, I did spend a lot of time on my hair and makeup. Okay, I admit, I missed the boat as a result of sheer vanity. So, what’s a girl to do? Text a girlfriend to join her for a drink, of course! And so there we were, on our third, maybe fourth Cosmo, when we needed to go powder our noses, in pairs of course. And that’s when he made his move. I am approached by someone very familiar.

So, here I am, dressed in a little Summer number, faux-bronzed to the nines (and obviously making a great first impression with my choice of pink lipstick – kudos to me), when Jack asks me to join him for a drink. We take a seat in an area designated for VIP’s, (which can also be described as ‘a black rope around a dirty carpeted area  far away from the bar’).  He asks me what I do for work and I ask him the same in return. Yeah, I played it cool. Real cool. I’m so cool. I’m so uncool right now. Gees, look at his thighs. They are like, as wide as my waist. Should I even try to make a good impression? It’s obvious – this guy gets the ladies. He’s a first grade footballer for goodness sakes with looks to kill.

But, it doesn’t take long before my nerves subside. In fact, they subside completely. I may even be a little bored. I soon, very sadly, come to terms with the fact that good looks is as far as it goes with Mr Jack. And he is very good looking. Is it enough? Jack, stop talking. There we go. Much better. Oh, he’s so perfect. ‘How old are you?’ he asks. ‘I’m 27. And you?’ He replies,‘I’m 25.’ I nod.

Twenty-five?  Oh Jack – hot, fit, manly, young, Jack. You see, there’s thing called the Internet and I kind of Googled you when I went to the bathroom. I know you just turned 21. But, don’t worry. I’ll keep it as my little secret. ‘Dinner? Sure!’ What am I doing? Say thanks, but no thanks. Jack takes my number and texts me later that night. His words are abbreviated to consist of numbers and symbols and I have no idea what’s going on.

Tuesday rolls around and we agree to meet at a restaurant suggested by Jack. I like initiative. Good work, Jack. Funnily enough, it turns out he lives literally around the corner! Mind you, I travelled for half an hour to get there. I don’t like convenience. Bad choice, Jack. 

He suggests we order some share plates. Share plates. You know, some for you, some for me, the ones that you choose to share? I needn’t say anymore. Wine? Yes please. It’s a must. He pours a glass for me and a glass for himself. Chit-chat about family, work, life. Time for a beverage top up! Oh, okay then. Apparently I don’t need a top up. Oh, yep that’s a full glass on his end. His words exactly: ‘Whoops. I just poured the last bit.’ He proceeds to tell a few “jokes” relating to sex and taking girls home. I don’t find them very humorous. He tells me I’m uptight and I need to relax a bit. I would mate, but you drank all the bloody wine.

As I excuse myself to the bathroom, he calls for the bill. He pays in my absence, which is very gentleman like. But can I just say, I literally ate like, next to nothing. I’m freakin’ starving. And I’m sober AF. And then he went for it. A good twenty-one year old style pash. This is messy. Way too much tongue. His hand is on my arse. God, don’t even think about asking me to…  ‘So, do you want to come back to mine?’

So, what’s the latest with hot, fit, manly, young, Jack? Well, there’s this thing called Instagram and I kind of looked him up before writing this journal entry. Jack’s in a committed relationship. He’s still playing first grade. He seems content with the current state of his muscles. But you know what is the most interesting thing of all? Posts featuring the two of them go back as far as December 2013. So, whether she and I overlapped, or she was swept off her feet at dinner the night after me, we’ll never know.

What we do know is: any man that gets between a girl and her wine glass is a man not worth having! And on that note… Cheers! To dating real men!

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