If the dress fits...

Wedding dress shopping. If you’ve seen Muriel’s Wedding you’d think it would be a joyous occasion with gorgeous, ethereal gowns, gushing sales assistants and the odd glass of festive champagne. But for many brides to be shopping for a dress for their big day is up there with losing a family pet in terms of emotional distress and need for immediate valium and chardonnay inhalation. I know. I was there yesterday. I flew to the rescue of a girl trying on dresses in a Sydney salon – which for legal reasons will remain unnamed. The first sticking point was the sizes. Of which there was only one. A matchstick thin size 10. Now that’s just dandy if you’ve just stepped off the catwalk at Sydney Fashion Week and your last name is Gale. But if you’re a normal size chick [14-16 last time I checked the stats] then size ten is not even going to fit around your pinky finger. So, instead of actually getting into the dress, you just have to hold it up to yourself and imagine what you might look like in front of your hubby to be and 100 of your closet friends and rellos. Right. The second issue is price. A strapless scrap of floaty satin costs roughly the same price at a second hand car…or if you’re going for extra beading... a new Holden Astra. Automatic. With mag wheels. Don’t even get me started on the snooty assistants, the casual put-downs about your wobbly bits and how they will crush them into submission with tulle and boning and how you can’t even take a poloroid of the bloody dress you’ll be forking out your life savings for because it might be ‘copied.’ The whole thing is enough to make you call off the ceremony and flee to Fiji where you can say I do in a loose fitting, tropical print muumuu.
So, my call out today is to all those girls who have been through this wedding dress fiasco, or seen someone who has. Is it time we demanded an end to this madness and started getting hitched in off the rack numbers from Sportsgirl that cost $80? Or is a dress the most important part of the marriage ceremony?
And for the guys – how did you get away with just having to rent a decent suit for the day?

Food fights

Forget money, sex, late hours or family dramas: the latest thing ripping couples apart is... wait for it... food.
It’s a bold statement, granted, but just look at all the dietary differences these days. Carnivores, vegans, white-meat-only eaters, gluten-free enthusiasts, to name a few. You only have to look at the woman who put the sex back into spoon licking – gourmet glamour puss Nigella Lawson – to know that food is life’s greatest aphrodisiac, but what happens when you’re dating someone whose food tastes differ drastically from your own? When you love a beer and your girlfriend’s a teetotaller? When you like your steak still mooing but your partner’s at the tofu end of the spectrum? When your lover’s always dieting and you live on stuffed-crust pizza?
Though for some this may be a deal-breaker (when you date a non-drinker, for instance, you can forget about dutch courage for that first kiss/naked moment), I tend to think food is only a big deal if you make it one.
“There’s this feeling that if we eat the same thing then we are the same thing and if we don’t, we’re no longer unified,” said Dr Kathryn Zerbe, a US shrink who specialises in eating disorders.
Getting around it, says Dr Zerbe, is about compromising and finding meals you both enjoy. Resisting the urge to label your partner a freak or point and guffaw at their choice of chow – and having a list of restaurants to repair to when things get heated in your respective culinary camps – may also help.
I mean, look at Nigella and her hubby Charles Saatchi. "Charles doesn't really like proper food. He prefers a bowl of cereal. We often climb into bed together with a bowl each of cereal, ice cream and biscuits," the domestic goddess once said.
They even weathered the storm when Charles spurned his wife’s cooking to embark on a weird egg diet which saw him shed a whopping 25 kilos. She’s still cooking with full-fat cream and raiding the fridge at midnight, so it must be love.

*** Have you ever been in a relationship where your partner had drastically different eating habits to you? Let’s hear it, people...

What's thicker - blood or ex-boyfriends?

I just broke up with my de facto who decided quite coldly that I wasn’t the one. I’ve been gutted by this. We’re doing no contact, but as long as he avoids me he seems to think it’s cool to rock up at the house we used to share and hang out with my brother (who lives with me), go golfing with him or surfing. My brother is really cruisy and thinks this is totally fine. Even though I’m crying every day about my crap life. K

Save your tears, Special K. I’d much prefer you cracked open a bottle of bubbly to celebrate a damned lucky escape from a guy who wouldn’t know sensitivity if it bit him on the arse. I mean, sorry, but exactly what part of, ‘You don’t want to be with me so that kinda means you don’t have access to my house and/or family’ does your ex not understand? Breaking your heart is bad enough, but to appropriate your family members for fun times and surfing sessions? He’s obviously clueless so I’m prepared to forget him and move on to your really clueless dude of a brother.

Does he not realise that blood is thicker than even the thickest ex-boyfriends? When I broke up with my last guy – the one who liked double trouble – my family tucked me under their collective capes, told him to talk to the empty martini glass and that was that: no tearful goodbyes, no maybe-see-you-rounds and definitely no friendly surfing sessions. I know the lines are blurry between blokes; after all, your bro’s probably thinking, ‘well, he didn’t break up with ME, so surely it’s OK for me to hang with him still’ but in the interests of family ties he needs to batten down the hatches and leave Mr Wrong where he belongs – out surfing that cold little world on his cold little lonesome and crying into his wetsuit about what an idiot he really is.
Of course, when you meet a guy who appreciates you, you probably won’t give two hoots about who Mr Wrong’s hanging out with, but until then, I’d give your bro a crash course in break-up etiquette.
Love, reality chick

Is booty calling my best option?

I dumped my boyfriend about 18 months ago, because of the very reason of your column last week – he loved his X-Box more than me. in fact he used to make me feel like a nympho for wanting sex more than once a month. I don’t want another relationship just yet and it's not like I got any with him, but I find myself CLIMBING THE WALLS without regular action now I'm single. I’m over my vibrator big time. Do you think a booty call guy is the way to go? Anon

Hey wall-climber. Sorry about the X-Box ex, but go you for accepting you’re a hot chick with needs. And yes, sometimes jelly substitutes just don’t cut it when you need a real man in the crib. About that. There is really nothing worse than lying in bed, listening to the neighbours having crazy jungle sex (unless you’re lying in bed with your boyfriend listening to the neighbours having crazy jungle sex and he just gives you a polite smile and rolls over). But if you’re alone, and your Rabbit’s outta batteries, who you gonna call? Under the right circumstances, bedpals can totally rawk, but it’s not a pseudo relationship to enter into lightly. If you don’t want anything serious AND your bedpal agrees it’s just a bit of fun, it can be a fine way to a) kill time; b) wait for Mr Right to come along or c) kill time until you find your Rabbit in a dusty old box where you tossed it in a fit of rage. My advice? Set the rules of engagement first – will it be dinner and sex, drinking and sex, courtesy booty-call and sex, or just rock-up-any-time-sex, sex and more sex? And don’t forget the honesty clause on what you’ll do if you fall in love with your bedpal, he/she falls for you or either of you falls for a third party. Trust me, that’s a passion killer.

Love, reality chick

Sweetie…it’s your turn for Choreplay

Recently I first heard the delicious new word – choreplay. For those of you not familiar with the term, the urban dictionary describes it as follows:

1. Choreplay: When a woman is turned on by the sight of her husband / boyfriend / partner doing regular household chores, which she would normally be doing. Eg, "Last night, it was all about choreplay. I was all 'OH YEAH, fold that laundry. Oh yes, just like that! In half and, then in half again. OHHH'"

It is apparently the newest way for men to leave a lady swooning. Forget aftershave, good pecs and the latest pair of Tsubi jeans. A scrubbing brush, the faint waft of disinfectant and a nice apron are the hottest male accessories of the moment. In fact, this trend has begun to infiltrate dating sites with in-the-know guys making sure they include domestic abilities in their online resumes.
For example John, 43, likes surfing, mountain bike riding and ... ironing his own shirts...and yours too if you like that sort of thing.
"I’ll let you watch me starch," writes John.
The whole choreplay thing has really gotten me in the mood to talk about sexy domestic duties. Does your hair stand on end when your boy cooks you a meal from scratch? How about when they vacuum? Or empty the dishwasher un-assisted? And let’s not be sexist here. Heaps of men are really in tune with the whole domestic scene these days and perhaps your boy is actually much better than you at taking the garbage out and washing the floors. Perhaps he wishes you would turn on the choreplay a little more often, hmmm?
So. People, snap to it. Choreplay - are you giving any? Or are you gagging for a little pine-o-clean action?

Was their relationship in the toilet?

I'm always up for hearing about weird and wacky relationship stories. That said, I can't be the only one still troubled by 35-year-old Kansas woman Pam Babcock, who sat on her boyfriend’s loo for two years. She sat there so long, in fact, that her butt became part of the loo itself and she had to be carted off to hospital still attached to the seat. Which sucks.
Obviously, Toilet Seat Girl has serious issues (including a butt which now looks like a toilet seat). But she’s swiftly become old news in the wake of Toilet Seat Girl’s Boyfriend Kory McFarren, who still maintains he didn’t do anything wrong. He made sure she didn’t starve, reportedly asked her often to come out of the loo (she always responded with, ‘Maybe tomorrow’) and eventually twigged – a little late by anyone’s reckoning – that his girlfriend perhaps needed professional help.
It’s the kind of heart-warming story bringing couples closer for the single fact that anyone could look like a saint next to Kory, who wins the Worst Boyfriend of the Decade award hands down. And it's touched a raw nerve with singletons, too. Just ask my friend Amy.
"How did HE sleep knowing his crazy girlfriend was stuck to the loo? What kind of man goes, ‘Don’t worry honey, you just stay there and I’ll bring dinner to you’... I mean, is this REALLY the extent we must go to in order to get men to cook?" she screeched down the phone to me shortly after the story broke. "And how did their relationship survive two years without sex unless she was giving him blow jobs? I really don’t get why women like this have boyfriends and I don’t!"
All valid questions, but in a way, I hope we never find out; every time I hear another twist in the Toilet Couple’s Tale I feel the need to... well. Let’s not go there. Kory is now facing charges, his photo will surely take pride of place on WhoNotToDate.com and hopefully Pam Babcock will get the first available slot on Extreme Makeover: Butt Special.

*** Your turn: any idea why Pam commandeered Kory’s toilet in the first place? A fight, a protest, a really bad Vindaloo? Most original answer wins chocolate, just in time for Easter!

Rise of the freemale

Okay, hands up single ladies! Who wants to be a housewife and mother? No? Come on. Surely you don’t mind giving up watching America’s Next Top Model in your pajamas at 3pm, eating nutella out of the jar and contemplating your Saturday night out with the girls to ferry the kids to soccer training, get dinner ready and pop on another load of washing?
It seems that a new trend is emerging amongst the Bridget Jones set. No longer are they desperate to get Mr Darcy to pop the question and take All By Myself off high rotation once and for all. A new survey indicates that marriage levels are at their lowest since WWI with 51.4 percent of women now choosing not to buy into the meringue dress and Fiji honeymoon.
There are now more unmarried women than married women in Australia and those that are choosing to tie the knot are waiting until they’re much older than an Olsen twin. It seems if Bridget was writing in her diary in 2008, she’d rather be Miss Jones than Mrs Darcy any day of the week.
And whilst living in sin almost equates to marriage these days, it seems shacking up is also losing luster. Studies show single-person urban dwellings (SPUDs) now account for more than a quarter of all dwellings in Australia.
So, whilst some woman simply love having someone to snuggle up with and a couple of rugrats, it appears others are perfectly happy with their single status thank you very much. They’re not crying into a bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes night after night, watching The Biggest Loser and praying for the phone to ring. From what RC has seen, the new single girl has a lover or two, is planning a backpacking trip in India and owns her own child-unfriendly inner city apartment.
And whilst I’m scaring you with number crunching ... it seems a baby isn’t the icing on the cake for all women either. Despite those ticking biological clocks, estimates are that up to 25 percent of women will never have children.
So, let’s hear it people. Is getting hitched and having a few rugrats still a priority for single women? Or is it passé? And just how much fun is it being a freemale these days?

The fast and the furious

If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a nosy superhero, it’s that many of us (yes, yes, myself included) need a serious sex de-brief 101. We freak out that it’s too often/not often enough, we agonise over telling/not telling our raunchiest fantasies and we think something’s amiss if our sexcapades aren’t two-hour flesh-fests complete with candles, appropriate music and enough positions to leave you dizzy and in need of medical attention (please, don’t get me started on wall sex).
To all of the above, I say bollocks. And I’m not alone according to a major US survey which recently lifted the sheets on the best sex. Apparently sex is not SUPPOSED to be an epic performance, but rather a fun cameo role lasting between seven and 13 minutes. Even three minute sex is considered ‘adequate’.
I’m hoping that will be music to the ears of my readers who have children and cackle hysterically whenever the topic of sex rears its naked head (you know who you are). Granted, it may take some practice ripping your clothes off, doing the deed, enjoying post-coital bliss and putting your clothes back on in 180 seconds flat, but if you’re short on time the fast and furious quickie has got to be worth a try. I’m an advocate – not all the time, mind you, but I’m not going to decline if it’s the only option on the table.
So, your homework this week, people: set the stopwatch, grab your partner/ bedpal/ favourite vibrator etc, and give that three-minute lovin’ theory a hammering. Honestly, it’s the time it takes to make a cup of tea, thumb through a copy of a trashy mag’s Worst Bikini Bodies issue or shave your legs ankle-to-hip. But none of those pursuits are going to leave you with quite the same twinkle in the eye. At least, I hope not.

Ranger wants a wife

Howdy folks. I’ve been doing a bit of travelling of late ... when you have a cape it’s not too far to fly off to a safari in Africa ... and anyway, whilst I was snapping photos of lions, rhinos and cheetahs, I discovered another endangered spieces: single, straight, handsome men in their late 20s and early 30s, just desperate to meet a nice gal.
I was just peeking through my binoculars and there there were – dressed in khakis and sporting tanned legs and a better than average knowledge of the local flora and fauna. They also had the ability to whip up a strong G&T in under 3 minutes flat. So, who were these men, who ask? Well, they were RANGERS. As in Safari rangers. Just like Robert Redford in Out Of Africa. They even had guns.
The reason these perfectly delightful blokes were single and desperate was because they were literally stuck in the middle of no-where, with no girls anywhere to be seen. The ration of boy rangers to girl rangers is apparently less than 20 to one. These poor souls complained to me that they simply had no options meet laydees ... and if a single lass happened to step foot on safari, competition was fierce. Men started showing up in their droves, frantically fighting for her attention – manes were brushed, tails displayed and private game drives offered.
This leads me to think about that fabulous Channel Nine show, Farmer Wants a Wife, and propose a new reality TV offering – African Safari Ranger wants a Wife. Any takers?
Seriously though – would it be worth flying 14 hours and heading to the middle of the bush to snare the man of your dreams? How far would you be willing to go for love?

Tick tock tick tock

Hardly a month goes by when I don't have a conversation with a friend who is or has been in the Biological-Clock-Ticking-Must-Act-Now Boat (BCTMANB). In fact, it’s fair to say most single thirty-something women stress quite a bit about Mr Right, kids and missing out on both.
My mum’s theory is that men don’t really grow up until they’re forty and while I don't quite agree, if she's in any way right it definitely narrows the playing field. I’ll never forget when I was in the BCTMANB myself a few years ago, broken-hearted and convinced my life was over. Naturally, I decided it was the best time to visit (aka torture) a friend who’d just become a new mum. Handing me a hot cuppa, she pep-talked me with anecdotes of her mothers’ group.
“How old are they all?” I bleated, sniffling into my tissue.
“All over 37 – some even over 40,” she said. “Here’s the thing though, MOST aren’t married, it’s their first baby and many haven’t been with their partners long! Some are engaged, but most are career girls who met the right guy late and instead of faffing about, both decided to go for it!”
“There’s hope for me then,” I blubbered, borrowing the baby blanket off the baby to blow my nose on it.
“For god’s sake,” she said. “You’re only 32, you idiot. And stop crying, you’re scaring the baby.”
It was a turning point at which I learned that 1) we can have babies even in our 40s – it's not ideal, but we can and 2) plenty of women meet Mr Right in their late 30s and go on to have three kids! Just check out all the celebs (below) who became older mothers - and take heart if you're in the BCTMANB right now. There's still time, and you really should enjoy it by nipping out to your favourite bar for a cocktail or three.
Any older mums out there, or know someone who left motherhood 'til the last minute? Spill the beans...

Toni Collette (first baby at 35), Liz Hurley (first baby at 36), Sarah Jessica Parker (first baby at 37), Julia Roberts (baby at 37, 39 and pregnant again), Brooke Shields (baby at 37 and 40), Julianne Moore (baby at 37 and 41), Jennifer Lopez, (twins at 38), Naomi Watts (first baby at 38), Courtney Cox Arquette (first baby at 39), Elle Macpherson (baby at 39), Helen Hunt (first baby at 40), Jennifer Beals (first baby at 40), Emma Thompson (first baby at 40), Nicole Kidman (pregnant at 40). Madonna (baby at 41 and 45), Halle Berry (pregnant at 41), Salma Hayek (first baby at 41), Helena Bonham Carter (baby at 41), Jane Seymour (twins at 45), Marcia Cross (twins at 45), Christie Brinkley (baby at 46), Geena Davis (baby at 46), Holly Hunter (twins at 47), and the list goes on…