Indy And Me.

When you really think about it, Indiana Jones is a bit of an arse.

He’s selfish, he’s arrogant, he constantly places those he cares about in danger and he kills at random when people get between him and some dusty old relic that nobody else cares about. I mean, watch those movies again… he kills a LOT of people. Okay, so most of them were Nazi’s which, you know, makes it alright, but MAN! That’s still a lot of people.

Anyway, my point is that chicks still dig him.

Even though they know that they would be treated like dirt, used and abused in the name of archaeology, and probably face death at least seventeen times before breakfast, they still absolutely love him.

Me? I haven’t killed anyone (that I know of, anyway), have never even met a Nazi (that I know of, anyway) am quite nice, hold doors open, cook, take an interest in people and have very little interest in chasing after a shiny statue of a monkey whilst a pigmy blows poison darts up my arse.

And yet, here I am, single.

The last time a woman threw herself at me was at the annual ‘Women Throwing Themselves At You’ contest in Wollongong. Her name was Agnes. She got the bronze.

But I get the whole Indy thing, I really do. Besides the obvious fact that Indian Jones looks remarkably like Harrison Ford who is, of course, dreamy, I understand the attraction. Indy is independent, he’s assertive, in control and perhaps, most of all, he’s exciting.

I’m not exciting.

I don’t tend to do things on the spur of the moment and I don’t have much in the way of a social life. I’m not big on crowds and I’m not very good at dancing (though I wish I was. My childhood dream was to be Fred Astaire as I considered him to be the height of sophistication but instead I ended up with the legs of a goat and the co-ordination of Stephen Hawkins), I don’t go out much and my idea of a great date is watching the Samurai trilogy over a bottle of wine whilst heatedly discussing why they never made a sequel to Big Trouble In Little China.

Indiana probably could have killed seventeen Nazi’s, found the Spear Of Destiny and shagged you twice in that time span.

I would have made the spare bed up so as not to appear presumptuous.

Of course, if you find the idea of wine and martial art mayhem on the idiot box exciting then, yes, I am the most exciting man in the world.

But most women do not, nor should they.

Truth be told, I tire of it myself at times and find myself out the back at strange hours of the night, using some clothes line as a whip and pretending my dog is an armed division of the Wehrmacht.

In all honesty, I don’t really want a relationship, my previous one left me a hollow of a man and I have only recently found the stuffing to reinsert delicately within myself. But I do feel that I should be prepared for when I’m ready to embark on that perilous journey again.

So in the meantime, I’m practicing treating women like dirt, jeopardising all those around me for a matchbox car i buried in the backyard six months ago and learning to wear khaki well.

It passes the time.


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