“She has a great smile. You know, the kind of smile you want to come home to at the end of the day.”
One difference I have found being here is that as far as I can tell people comment on you, to you, a lot. Old dudes, young guys, even a lady or two. One woman told me her husband was “distracted” by some physical feature I won’t specify as they stood in front of me paying a bill. I have had more comments in five weeks from strangers than I had during the peak of my fairly active dating and out-four-nights-a-week life, circa 2003-2007.
Five weeks in, the regulars wave at me on the street and call my name in the grocery store aisles. At best, I know them by drink preference and perhaps local occupation. I know who likes to talk more after the fourth drink, whose mother is sick, and who is having a fight. I have seen more than I cared to in states of undress (for the record, Take Your Shirt Off as a jukebox selection will always have more of an impact on male occupants of a pub than female), repeatedly failed to identify if what is on the screen is Aussie Rules or Footie or something else altogether, and learned to say “no worries” intermittently (I doubt I’ll ever throw a “Mate” on the end but, hey, who knows).
Everything as it seems, uncomplicated.
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