INGRID DOULTON | Lady Writer | Contact
“All of his profile pictures are hunting pictures,” she said.
“One of them was a feral cat that looked like it’d been run over by a lawnmower. What the fuck is wrong with people? And why do they think that’d be a good idea to put those pictures up on social media?”
“Seriously, though. This town, I swear to God. The abstract concept of a man drought is inherently flawed but mother of God, there’s not much out there, is there?”
Lucy Cottonwood met our reporter in a popular – but not too popular cafe in the French Quarter to tell The Advocate about the purported ‘man drought’ that’s apparently holding the women of our desert republic to ransom.
The successful small-businesswoman explained that she first downloaded a few dating apps ‘just to see what’s out there’ before filling out the rest of her profile a few weeks later.
What the headstrong Taurus found failed to impress.
“I think the supposed ‘man drought’ out here in Betoota has got more to do with the standard of bloke out here than the scarcity,”
“Look, I’m as picky as the next 29-year-old but there is a certain level of self-respect I hold myself to. I could drink all the mango wine in Port Douglas and I still wouldn’t look at any of these blokes twice.”
To prove her point, Lucy flicked through a few dating profiles with our reporter just to outline and provide context to her opinions.
“Look at this bloke,” she said.
“Shawn. Here’s Shawn with a pig he’s just stabbed to death with the help of a few dogs. I know they’re pests and all but fuck me dead, just shoot them in the head or something. But if you’ve got the bloodlust, how about don’t take pictures? Or don’t put them on the internet?”
“At this point, it’s looking like New Farm or bust for me. I can’t live out here in the sticks anymore. I don’t care if I end up with a bloke who still has his mother Napisan his moleskins every Thursday night. As long as he doesn’t chew tobacco and wear a bullet necklace.”
More to come.