Beaver v. Sylvia the Florist

Here’s some writing from the Beaver vaults….

Ok, confession time, hands up if you are or once were a single girl who played innocent games when out at night  scouting for single men. Hands up high, you know you did! (just blame tequilas) I myself am guilty. Of course this was years ago as an inexperienced single-ite…

One of my favourite tricks, and a favourite of many of my single friends, was to invent a fake name and occupation to tell any interested suitors (usually the ones in which we aren’t so interested). Now I am sure there are single men out there who use this trick too, maybe to appear more attractive to women. Does the line ‘Hello, I’m a marine biologist who rescues dolphins’ sound familiar ladies?

Well my alias, my alter ego, my evil twin, my complete sham was none other than Sylvia the florist. She often lived in a suburb miles and miles away from whichever bar I was in, and very often on a Friday night she had to leave a soiree early to be at the flower market the next morning. ‘So, Sylvia, do you want to come back to my place?’  ‘Gee I’d love to (insert name here) but I have to be up at 4 am to go the flower markets, so I am about to head home!’

Ahhh, the good times Sylvia and I have had. It helped to have a name ready, as you didn’t want to be caught in a situation where your mind goes blank- ‘My name? Umm, my name is, umm…Sylvia!’ There have been the times where groups of girls have invented names for everyone, usually followed by a few hours of trying to remember what names we are using with which men, and what names my friends are using. Add alcohol to that mix and meeting fellas becomes very confusing.

Sometimes I was not Sylvia, I am any other name that pops into my head. But Sylvia was a favourite, and it became easier to remember her quirks  each night she came out. Only one time, did Sylvia left me down.  I was out on a Friday night (that soon became Saturday morning) with two single friends. Lucky for them, they had met single men and were holding deep alcohol-induced conversations. Unlucky for me, I was standing on my own, the designated driver. A man approached, and honed in on me as a last minute attempt, as the bar was closing in 20 minutes. I played my usual Slyvia card, and then realised I was losing the hand as the man declared he was from Holland and his family grew flowers. He asked me all sorts of intricate questions about poppy varieties, which I answered woefully. Even my ‘early morning – have to leave’ excuse backfired; it was already 4am.

So I learned a lesson, and will issue a warning to other single girls who use personas when meeting prospective partners. My two friends who accompanied me on the night of Sylvia’s shame, both went on to meet their future partners in the next month, minus their stage names.  Sometimes, it would seem, it is better to just be yourself!


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