Much socialization over weekend, including awesome celebration at B&D's joint further up in Northcote. They have cleverly constructed their own woodfire pizza oven in the backyard, so there was much much pizza, and there was sun and homebrew, and then I was presented with four longnecks of the cider, of which I helped bottle 4 months ago. Verdict? Very sweet, very yummy. And very fucking alcoholic.

Had one of those cringeworthy moments, though. Was sitting with three women I know through the hostess, all very different from me and from each other (diverse guests, one of the many reasons I like going up to B&Ds). One girl, slightly younger than myself, tall, epically shapely in a white dress against olive skin, leaned back with her roll your own, and said 'Oh, I need a man'.

'Six months', she said. 'Six months since I broke up with Shane and haven't been out with anyone. Long time to be on my own'.

'Don't worry,' said another, this one engaged. American, tiny and lovely. 'I was single three years before I met Dave, and yah, you will get there'.

I should have found an excuse to go the loo at this time. But no. I couldn't resist, and nor could the homebrew in my brain.
'Try eight years, ladies.'

Pause for the first time in at least 45 minutes. Then, 'Eight years???!!!' The reaction was similar to me saying I ate babies for fun.

'Um....yeah.' I decided to be defiant on this one, due to bringing it up and making other people simultaneously feel bad but then relieved it's not them.

Further reactions along the lines of: 'Wow! You must have had some flings in there though?'

'You must be very picky then!'

'You've had a fuckbuddy of course, mate? I mean, fuck!'

'Yeah, you probably have more sex than you would have had you been in a relationship!'

I laughed and gulped down some more icy cider. It was time to agree. 'Oh yeah, of course. Ridiculous amounts you know. Just like Carrie. Never been celibate or anything, God, how sad would that be?'

They looked at me with relief. So I was a goodtime girl after all, rather than some sad spinster. Whew!

'Anyway, you' I said to Annie, the one who had started conversation, 'Go down to NSC tonight and pick someone up. Easy peesy.'

'Ugh' chimed in Bec, a rockabilly chick who likes saying fuck a lot. 'Full of fucking hipster wankers. Fuck that'.

Subject changed. I wish I hadn't have gone there. I know it shouldn't matter, but it does. I am sure there are women out there who have been single for longer and then somehow met their Prince Charming and lived happily ever after. No-one me or my friends know, but I hold hope.

Carly was nice to me yesterday when she got wind of conversation. 'Michelle, the reason people can't believe it is because you are fabulous. It's like, 'me non comprende'. Why the fuck wouldn't you have a boyfriend? Anyway, you have more male interest than most girls I know.'

Not strictly true, but still nice to hear. The fact doesn't hurt as much as it used to; I hope this is because I am more positive about it now, and not because I have become too jaded.... I must stop being a cock about this and have faith it will happen. And in the meantime, stop drinking cider in the sun.