The pub life really ain’t for me – full of sleazy regulars who have a permanent seat at the bar and their teeth half falling out, busty fifty year old women desperate to find a young toy boy to play with for the night, mates having a beer eyeing up girls mirroring the blokes but with their Bacardi Breezers in the corner. It’s quite a social spectacle to see how us primates interact with a little dutch courage.
Last night, I went out with three girlfriends for dinner (a very slow, poorly serviced dinner) where we talked about my new possibilities, my 40 something year old friend’s last set up with another 40 something year old who wore dentures and how she couldn’t possibly go to be with a man who put his teeth in a jar each night, my other friend’s new sense of freedom as her husband packed his bags to work interstate for a month, and the latecomer’s recent trip to Fiji. After our over-priced pasta, we walked into the pub to see what was going on. A couple of my friends ‘scabbed’ a cigarette from some other girls, but insisted on paying $2 a cigarette for the privilege due to the expense of them. The other girls were beyond interesting. A 26 year old lawyer who was intrigued by the youthfulness of my late 30s friends’ skin (one actually over the 40 mark) and how she had an appointment to get Botox in the near future due to a deep frown mark between her eyebrows. We tried to convince her that she needed to stay natural, but she wasn’t keen. Admittedly, for a 26 year old, she looked more our age than we did ourselves. But you could see in her eyes that she was a workaholic, constantly beaten (not physically, but mentally) in a male dominated field and there was a certain sadness because no male accepted her for who she was, they were essentially frightened of her ‘status,’ which made her a very lonely lady. Her friend, on the other hand, was more Plain Jane to look at, but was a school teacher and her personality more bubbly.
My 40 something year old friend, texted me to see the eye-candy on the next table. She was there to pick up and I wasn’t interested, being the only other single mum in our group. My lack of interest was due to the fact that we were outside with the smokers (something that I can’t stand to be locking lips with), and the fact that everyone on the deck had been their most the afternoon sucking on the end of a beer bottle like it was their security blanket. We discovered that these men were in fact 23 year old tradies – carpenters mostly, doing their standard Saturday afternoon fare – watching the footy and standing around guzzling a few beers. There were smiles exchanged, and most of them had a sense of cuteness you could almost take home, but once their mouths opened, the Aussie ockerness came out with alcoholic slurs and conversations or more so debates, that seemed to be picked up from last week, yesterday or even from the last hour, generally about footy. Hmmm… that’s why I stay away from the pub. I wouldn’t have a clue who was playing, how the season went and who was bonking who’s girlfriend off the field and none of it interested me. But the question was asked ‘How can you live in Melbourne and not be interested in football?’ Well, that is the question that makes me think more that this place ain’t for me…
So, after two sauv blancs, losing a measly dollar on the pokies and some intense observations, I took myself home to the boys who love me and my comfy cosy bed. I heard from my American lover briefly, who had a terrible night at work and I wished I was in a better place to be there for him. I just know where my heart is. But, at the same time, it was good to see what I’m missing out on every Saturday night really isn’t anything to be missing out on at all.