I recently got rejected for a former-paraplegic. A heterosexual, 38 year old former-paraplegic at that and one whom is also currently in a long term relationship with her male partner. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am all for people who have sustained back injuries. Have nothing against them. I am also a keen supporter of heterosexuals and their breeding rights, (let’s keep those babies/tax dollars coming). But I must admit to being a tad perplexed by this final outcome, (which, for the record, has nothing to do with physical ability, ones proneness to accidents or sexual orientation etc) See, I generally hate dating as a rule but yet greeted the prospect of entering into a relationship with this person with no judgement and limp, but opened arms, (and let me tell you, there was a lot to judge). Which leads me to the subject of birds. ‘Why?’ you may ask. Because this person had upwards of 50 as pets. Some domestic, some native. And rats. 2 to be precise that had also laid claim to her underwear drawer as their permanent residential address.
The story began when a mutual friend decided to set us up. Apparently, despite having not met this girl in person, she thought we would be ‘perfect for each other’ and that ‘we were to thank her in our wedding speech’. No pressure. We conversed on Facebook for some weeks, acquainting ourselves with the other, and this naturally led to a coffee date. One wet Friday afternoon we met at a city landmark which is also (aptly enough) in the shape of an animal native to Australia, the goanna. She was fashionably late and requested that I sit on the goanna and wait for her. I paced nervously, reciting all the subject topics that were off limits, (avian influenza, my dislike of hippies, avian influenza, birds, my dislike of natural fibres, avian influenza, birds). When she finally arrived we awkwardly kissed each other hello and decided to go to a vegan café for a chai tea. Alarm bells were sounding in the distance but were duly ignored.
Our conversation flowed easily and soon she was confessing her desire to build a house, (like a house for humans) within an aviary. Apparently, ‘that would make it easier to care for the birds’. Whilst I commended her romantic idea of living at one with nature, I pointed out the health and safety issues which could possibly arise if she was to follow through with the plan, (without mentioning the very real threat of the impending avian influenza pandemic). She quickly shut me up by stating that she was normally covered in bird shit so it really isn’t an issue. Other chai confession included she was Jewish and from a South African heritage, (which received a tick from me), had recently ended an 8 month affair with a heterosexual former-paraplegic who is currently celebrating her 10 year anniversary with her long-term boyfriend, (which I also turned into a tick after several minutes of raised eyebrows and mental calculation), had attended a prestigious private school, (half tick awarded out of pity) and prefers to dry her washing on the lawn, (.3333 of a tick for being environmentally aware and creative with the drying process). After 2 hours I had become the master of spin and mentally turned every single quirk/oddity into an endearing quality.
Pleased with my effort and buoyed by the prospect of meeting someone who was clearly weirder than me, we arranged to have dinner the following week. Chicken was not a menu option. Later that evening, at approx 8pm, whilst watching Weeds stoned, I decided that she possibly had partner potential and that I was willing to give a relationship a try, (after a year of creating chaos as a bachelorette throughout my country-like town of residence).
We messaged each over the next few days and I had romantic ideas about living with her and her 8 millions birds in the some idyllic location where I could dry our clothes on trees. A week went by and she had yet to respond to my dinner invitation. Clearly something was wrong.
The following week our mutual friend Facebooked me to say that, while this girl had liked me, ‘she was still not over the former-paraplegic’ and that we should ‘probably look elsewhere.’ I held it together for 5 nights before, after a traumatic evening, I drank too much and fell onto my stereo, nearly impaling my back on my record needle. I am sure this injury would have resulted in some sort of paralysis but something or someone saved me.
So here I am today, wiser, slightly more jaded but grateful I don’t have a record needle wedged up my spine or 50 million birds to deal with.
