Your host greets you at the door like a spring breeze. Is that outfit new? You’ve not seen it before; it’s most complementary to her skin tone. You notice it’s pressed, not tumble-dried. That little extra effort extends to her make-up: it’s more than usual, but balanced with the ‘hello, I’m a harlot’ red lippy. Even her tousled hair is pinned up with a casual elegance. Her impeccable appearance is punctuated by her relaxed demean our, likely aided by a glass of wine while she was cooking.

Her partner steps out of his GQ ad to accompany her. Where did she find him again? Half expecting a knock at the door from the paparazzi, you attempt to clear the fire-hazard congregation at the entrance, following Mr Buff’s bottom up the stairs. Legs in motion, your brain alerts you: Don’t drool. It’s impolite. And creepy.

You stop in your tracks, your olfactory sense captured. The lingering molecules thrust into the air by the entrée tease you with a foreshadowing of the menu ahead. Spritz-like bursts of heaven from the vase of fresh and ripe white lilies join in the tennis match. Each demands attention. Your senses continue to widen as your host glides you into the lounge. Is this the dining room or the set of a Better Homes and Gardens shoot? You note a strict adherence to the long-standing restraining order Emily Post imposed between crockery and stemware.

The inner sanctum welcomes you. It’s UGG-boots cosy (sans UGG). The well-worn leather couches beckon you to sit next to the crackling fire (now an environment-friendly gas insert). You appreciate the soft lighting, which makes everyone look ten years younger. You don’t appreciate your deteriorating vision; you cannot discern whether the Drawbridge hanging nearby, Pacific Horizons, is real or a copy. Either way, you like that New Zealand is a small country with very large talent.

As you recognise Peterson’s quartet, the volume of it seems to increase. Your feet start to tap; you’re feeling a little playful. Perhaps it’s that provocative piano. Duke Ellington’s nickname for Peterson, ‘the Maharaja of the keyboard’, is fitting; you impress your host by commenting on it. Peterson is the ideal choice. Perky, sexy, smooth. Sipping on the aperitif, you poise your palate: your salivary senses stand at the ready. You willingly succumb to the palpable excitement overtaking you. Feeding frenzy foreplay complete, you are fully prepared to indulge, anticipating a meal to put Gordon Ramsay to shame.

A similar experience awaits you on the following pages. Your epicurean reading experience is about to begin. Partake, if you will, in this love story with a twist. Each chapter offers you a culinary delight, a beverage to match, art to ‘capture the moment’ and some mood music. And to finish? Perhaps you might enjoy a new lasting impression.

Bon appétit. Let the experience begin!

Visiting the Long Gallery at Woburn Abbey, where the painting hangs, you wonder at Elizabeth’s strength. The art piece commemorates her successful defeat of the Spanish Armada sent to depose her. Liz’s pale white hand deftly settles in command atop the globe: today, the Spanish Armada… tomorrow, the world! It brings to life Simon Schama’s comment that ‘Great art has dreadful manners. … the greatest paintings grab you in a headlock, rough up your composure and then proceed in short order to re-arrange your reality …’²

The rendition of the Queen, way back when, captured such power and composure in her insipid face, yet underneath all that hot air concealed by puffy sleeves and gold brocade, the façade could not contain a discomfort that appeared to permeate her slenderness – her private place being free of the pomp and circumstance. One can only imagine how gentle that interior would have been, the lonely inside life that leadership bestows. She is also beautiful, personifying strength and femininity – a heady combination that, long prior and since, continues to petrify suitors. That a woman can be intelligent, powerful AND have real-worldly charms (and needs) makes the world of love and lust most interesting.

It is refreshing to meet a woman who embodies this paradox, punching stereotype in the guts and releasing notions that strength, beauty and love are mutually exclusive. They are not. The ability to hold a position of power and appear ‘together’ may just be the work of the clever utilitarian corset, a strange hold that over time weakens its grip.

Let us move inside the painting, the portrait, and explore the paradoxical world concealed within.

We ‘open’ with some deep, unconditional and eternal love lyrics for ambience, while noting that Sheeran could have been a little more optimistic and pushed out the chorus a decade or two. C’mon, Ed, everyone knows seventy is the new sixty, sixty is the new fifty et cetera. Plus, the trend in population demographics show that this older-person bulge is expanding (in more ways than one), meaning it’s likely teens and tweens are using the credit cards of these baby boomers to download your wonderful song!

Reach for that elegant, delicately engraved, extremely heavy silver serving tray (use two hands). The one bequeathed by late Aunt Edna. Yes! Unshackle the notion of its purpose being ‘display only’. Throw caution to the wind as you pop the cork on that bottle of bubbles which cost more than your monthly retirement-plan contribution. No matter what age, this is the special occasion you’ve been waiting for.

A quick spit and polish later, select and carefully arrange a dozen plump, fresh, crimson, bursting-with-juicy-sweet-flavour organic strawberries. See if you can arrange some quartered slices of lemon in Jenga style, and add Maldon sea salt and fancy ground peppercorns. Last but not least, the feature act. You really cannot call yourself a foodie or connoisseur if you’ve never had Bluff oysters from New Zealand. Seriously, you have not lived if these succulent suckers haven’t saliva-river-rafted down your throat. Luxuriate in anticipation of these fresh, delicate, decadent and delicious creatures.

How many can Edna handle, you might ask? Good question.

How about fifty?

Casanova would start the day with fifty oysters, then proceed to enjoy five or six orgasms a night. ‘Venetian Viagra’, according to biographer Ian Kelly.³It brings new meaning to breakfast of champions, doesn’t it? Not sure Edna’s up for it, but Kelly shares Casanova’s oyster game, how he’d pass the delicacy back and forth, mouth to mouth, eating them off breasts and other body parts. The first body shot, perhaps?

So is it fact or folklore? The oysters, I mean. Are they an aphrodisiac? Could they help with longer lovemaking? Casanova’s experience does embody a reasonable sample size of n=more than a hundred women (and a few men).

Consider some scientific facts.

The average male ejaculates between 0.1 and ten millilitres of semen. Please note, amounts and velocity can vary widely. Increases depend on duration between activity and amount of foreplay. With each explosion, a male loses more than just his load. Based on an average serving size of around three-quarters of a teaspoon (yeah, right), males deplete their bodies of various nutrients: vitamins B6, B12 and E; plus calcium, magnesium, selenium and zinc. Most losses are trace amounts, but zinc (key for testosterone action), selenium and copper really give it up for the cause. So as the semen searches for its next lunar landing wet spot, the male testosterone, serotonin, acetylcholine and dopamine lower and prolactin rises. Result? Sleepy, tired and throw in a bit of moody for good measure.

Enter our unsuspecting appetiser.

In 2005, those wild and crazy folk at the American Chemical Society conference in San Diego verified the science linking bivalve molluscs and increased levels of sex hormones. Imagine the number of pointy-heads and thick-black-rimmed specs at that event! They confirmed oysters as the food with the highest zinc concentration (over thirty-three milligrams per serve) and as exceptionally good for sourcing vitamin B12 and trace minerals. So, centuries later, science vindicates Casanova’s diet of shellfish and his associated sexual prowess (though the scientists mentioned nil about the body shots).

Good to know.

It’s the little, seemingly insignificant details like ejaculation and semen content that really add to our understanding of partners and the opposite sex. Expanding our relationship toolkit must improve our chances of relationship success. After all, you don’t need to like everything you read in, say, Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, but like most things these days, knowledge is power. In the search for love, the more you know, the greater the chance of victory.

So, women out there, and those sensitive gay males, please don’t take it personally when your man rolls over after sex wanting to go to sleep. Truth is he’s legitimately tired. And gentlemen? Just eat the oysters. Lots.

Her sales manager boyfriend at the time could drive home any car on the lot. He chose a brand new Cayenne as their ‘ride’ for the winding hills of the region that weekend. Of course, they aptly christened the vehicle at the last bend in the road before crossing Napier’s city limits. The car would be fully loaded with many fine specimens by the time they returned to Wellington.

Mr Porsche knew Alexis had needed a change of scene. She had been working full-time by day, renovating a rental on weekends and evenings and, in the remaining hours, setting up a new business. He tried to man-help where he could, but wasn’t particularly handy, and did not come equipped with the Energizer Bunny batteries she did. He’d often head to bed, and she would join him in the wee hours of the morn. Waking when she came to bed, he would always help her wind down before softly kissing and cuddling her to sleep. His bunny was getting more exhausted by the day, and her upcoming birthday was the perfect excuse to ‘take her away from all this’.

Alexis remembered the tray of cheeses and canapés he brought outside, along with an armful of NZ House & Garden magazines. He insisted she read at least one cover to cover, as he leaned forward and took her laptop away with a mischievous smile and sloppy kiss. Her chivalrous knight wrapped her in a big blanket so she could enjoy the last of the setting sun among the vines. A queen on her throne, gazing at her kingdom, replete with olives and grapes, she enjoyed her stunning panorama. The fresh, cool air was invigorating, as she stayed cosy and warm in her regalia. By evening, it was time for entertainment in their simple and rustic but well-appointed castle. The heat from the roaring open fire led the royalty to disrobe. In their birthday suits, it was a joyeux anniversaire after all. The pair enjoyed the jesters perform in Pulp Fiction and ate breakfast at dinner, because they could and because he knew it was her favourite meal of the day.

She took the bottled treasure upstairs and gently removed its cork.

Alexis appreciated how the bottle was still old school. Screw tops were easier, of course, and led to less corkage, but there was something special about having to work at getting into the wine. That’s how Lexi thought about love – to get to the good stuff, you needed to put in some effort. Her career demonstrated how good things take work, and she was prepared to put in the time to get what she wanted, even if that meant some ridicule from her friends on occasion.

At her fortieth birthday, her good friend Edie had toasted: ‘Let’s raise a glass to Lexi, the inspiration for the screenplay I Don’t Know How She Does It. You make us laugh and are the kind of person we would love to hate, except that you’re so damn charming. Cute as you are, though, let’s hope this year brings you some luck in the love department.’

It surprised many of her friends that with all her energy and joie de vivre, Alexis had little success in relationships. Edie Purcell, known for her ‘shoot from the hip’ style, often ventured into the Alexis-love-life minefield. She called Lexi’s history deplorable. ‘How can you get divorced a second time after only five weeks? C’mon, Lex!’ A lot of people couldn’t cope with Edie’s honesty, but Alexis appreciated her no-bullshit approach, even if it did ouch on occasion.

Edie wasn’t the only one to judge the reign of Queen Alexis as lacking any Armada. Oliver, her BFF, also knew that gaining and keeping territory were not among Lexi’s strengths.

It was during that infamous weekend away that Lexi bumped into Oliver at the stunning Craggy Range tasting room. Oliver had taken his new squeeze, Paul, for a dirty weekend to the Bay. As Alexis reread the words on the label about the ‘true expression of the great Gimblett Gravels vineyard and the hand selected Merlot and Cab Franc grapes’, the scene replayed.

‘“Sophia” bottles will cellar well for five to ten years,’ the cashier advised the friend group mulling around the till. It was then that Oli glanced at Lexi’s boyfriend.

‘That’s unfortunate for you,’ he simpered. ‘It’s unlikely you’ll be around to enjoy it.’

It was 2008. Mr Porsche never made it to 2010, let alone today, when ‘Sophia’ was finally uncorked. Maybe it was time to overhaul her ‘old school’ ideas about love and relationships.

Not since she and Mr Porsche parted company had she enjoyed the lingering finish of male company. The desire to share more than her lovely wine crept up on her like a panther in the wild. She didn’t see it coming, but she felt its presence as she let the alcohol carry her to a different plane. A better place, where being single didn’t matter. The time-bound place, for a few sips later, the bus took a sharp turn south. A few more led to total distraction. Her wandering mind left her heart exposed – fully unguarded prey.

The next time she closed her eyes, she submerged herself in the whole concept of love. She considered several colleagues, those matched up, either married or in serious, grown-up relationships, most with seemingly unlikely candidates. Lexi would say to herself, ‘I don’t know what she sees in him.’ You know, that guy, your mate’s boyfriend who might be obnoxious when drinking, or perhaps totally uncoordinated on the sports field, or maybe unemployed with no job prospects. Does she see only what she wants to see, missing his flaws? Or perhaps she sees nothing, because, as they say, ‘love is blind’. Or is it? What does that even mean?

Pouring another glass, Alexis decided to take a closer look at the ‘blindness’ part of love (pardon the pun). On Google, Paul Acquasanta provided her with a starting point: ‘A blind person, in reality, is the only person who can truly see. They know first hand what true love is, without the use of eyes, but with the heart. And that is the truest form of love, and they harness it.’⁴

The third glass got her creative juices flowing, and she made the connection to modern times with Katy Perry’s lyric ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’. Between Paul and Katy, Alexis interpreted ‘knowing’ with the heart as trumping anything one might ‘see’ with their vision (even though hers was starting to blur). Proud of herself, she concluded, ‘So, the dude who might appear to be awkward or obnoxious to me is “known” to my mate because she “truly loves him”. She sees with her heart what is not apparent visually to me, or others.’

There was something safe and alluring in the ‘blindness’ concept. It sort of transcends the media’s expectations of perfection, giving those of us who see ourselves as ‘less than tens’ by magazine/media standards a chance to find ‘true love’. It raises hope that someone will see perfection despite our ‘features and benefits’ (because no one really has flaws :)). The thought that someone might love us, warts and all, is alluring. It satisfies our deepest human desire to be loved unconditionally. Remember all the ‘awws’ when Mark Darcy tells Bridget Jones ‘I love you just the way you are’?

Alluring indeed.

As she drifted to sleep on the couch (aka passed out), she faded into the romantic notion that someone would fall in love with her, deeply in love, relying only on their heart for guidance, sight unseen. Someone to consider her their treasure, just the way she is.

Now that would be something, wouldn’t it?

Oliver was no stranger to a change of heart.

Probably the last to acknowledge he was gay, it took him decades to come out. He wasn’t overtly camp or feminine and didn’t have any special gay tells. It was just something people around him knew. Lexi had a suspicion during their ‘behaving-badly twenties’ in Parliament – always cosying up to the other side. Then later, in their (somewhat) responsible early child-rearing thirties, he was never truly happy as a husband. Father – absolutely. Married? Not so much.

His proclamation left a wake of lost friendships and estranged family. It was little comfort Lexi stuck by him as he struggled with his new identity. Lack of acceptance from his beloved children, and, of course, the vitriolic blame and hate cast upon him by his then wife for ruining her life, trumped the airspace of his coming out. But that was so yesterday. The water was much calmer now, in their fab forties, both older but wiser, and the battle scars were worth it, fully morphing into authentic skin.

A voracious reader, Oliver had a full library of every self-help book to suit any occasion. Naturally, each was at easy access on his iPad. He carried that thing with him like Linus and his blanket. Oliver’s iPad was his reference book, the preacher’s bible, if you will, always at the ready with a photo or quote to support his case, or to check a reference. Of course he had ‘just the book’ when Lexi raised her topic of love.

‘Oh my God, Oli, the last thing I need is another self-help book,’ Lexi protested. She had to add shelving to expand her library to accommodate the number of fix-yourself-at-home books she had accumulated over the years.

‘You’re just scared, love. You just need to jump in and take a fucking chance. You’ve been single far too long, and you were made to love – you ooze passion, sweet.’

Shoving the platter of oysters in her face, Oliver insisted, ‘You get in the right head space. I’ve something to read to you.’ Convinced his perfectionist friend could find a happy love life if she just overcame her fear of failure, Oli read Lexi an excerpt from David Richo’s Daring to Trust book: ‘…our need for safety and security is part of living in a relationship…but only the survival part. The second … part of our need is for mutual love and personal fulfillment, manifested in the form of the five A’s (attention, acceptance, appreciation, affection, and allowing).When these were associated with the letdown in our original experience of life with others, we will have trouble trusting later. That “trouble” has to be called by name: fear. Our fear in intimate relationships is not of closeness but of the disappointment we imagine will surely follow commitment, since once burned, twice shy. This superstition can be refuted as we accept the fact that though some people hoodwink us, others do not. In any case, we can survive being let down by others – and we can grow in the process.’⁵

‘I’m not scared!’ protested Lexi. ‘I’m just too busy! Who has time to find the love of their lives anymore, with full-time work and kids and … well, Oli, we all cannot be as lucky as you and Marley.’

Lexi knew luck had little to do with it. Marley was Oli’s live-in Thai import boy toy. Wait, she thought, that is unkind. He was much younger than Oli, that was true, fourteen years (what’s the male equivalent of cougar?), but the pair was deeply in love. Nearly at the bottom of the bottle, Lexi was about to hear the story of how Oliver met his match. Again.

Oliver and Lexi shared a common background. Both had been raised in alcoholic families, and both had experienced their fair share of disappointment – and felt they disappointed others as well. Breeding self-confidence was in short supply at their respective homes. The pair connected deeply just based on shared experiences of emotional parental negligence. Both swore they would make the lives of their own children different to what they had endured. They worked so hard at trying to provide a stable home life that they often worked too hard and didn’t play enough. In trying to end the narcissism and neglect in this generation, they often relied on the same crutch of their forefathers. Intentions are wonderful creations, sometimes even fruitful, but always great sentiments just the same.

‘You’re not too busy. You are just not focused. C’mon, Lex, you and I both know if you are really fucking serious about your happiness and finding true love, you need to make an effort! Oh, do not be a bore. You know I went through months of dating men who were interested in just sex before I went online.’ Oliver winked then giggled his signature forced deep laugh, which reminded Alexis of Grover on Sesame Street.

He continued, ‘After all that sex – and, as you know, doll, there was a LOT – I found I wanted something more than just a physical relationship. You know me, traditional to the core.’

‘Yes, Oliver, you ooze tradition.’ Alexis played along.

‘Well, going online helped me weed out a lot of fuck-buddy prospects. It was actually more efficient dating time. I only pursued those interested in something real. When I met Marley, it didn’t take us long before we knew we wanted the same things in life. We met up when I sent for him to visit New Zealand, and, right away, we knew we were made for each other. Neither of us has looked back!’

Oliver had fully explored his newfound sexuality in the early change-of-heart/coming-out months. Lexi worried about how promiscuous her dear friend was being before she came to appreciate the subculture of gay males in Wellington. Whereas she had preferences for select wines, shoes and clothes, many of the male gay community seemed interested in choosing every and all candy on the shelf. And even before picking a favourite, they might choose again and again – sometimes the same flavour – just to be certain they hadn’t missed out on anything that anyone had to offer. Oliver tried to play hide-the-parcel with various lovers, but always got his heart trampled on by players far better versed in the game than he.

Oliver wasn’t like the masses. He actually wanted a full-time, committed relationship. He found that in Marley, and Lexi was overjoyed for him. Of course, it was not an easy road. For Oliver, his former gay liaisons would pressure him to partake in other sweet treats even after he started seeing Marley. There were a few indiscretions when Marley would return to Thailand before the two settled into a fully monogamous relationship. Now coming up three years, they were the poster couple for gay men wanting serious, amazing monogamy. As a couple, they were the envy of all Lexi’s single friends looking for love.

She had often dismissed it, but Lexi had to admit to more than an occasional fascination with and attraction to the internet dating thing.

‘I know, and you’re deliriously happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy. Really I am. So you’ve told me the story a million times, Oli, but maybe now just focus on the internet part of the dating. Like what websites to go on, and how you present yourself, and how you decide who to go out with.’

Alexis was surprised by her what-you’ve-always-wanted-to-know-about-internet-dating-but-were-afraid-to-ask questions. Clearly this was something her subconscious had prepared earlier!

‘I’ve heard horror stories about people lying about their age and weight and careers and all sorts. I don’t want to waste my time on a bunch of porkpies,’ she said as she signalled to the waitress they were ready to order.

She could sense her conscious mind shifting. She needed substantial food to keep down the butterflies starting to take flight in her stomach. Her heart was put on notice. Internet dating appeared imminent.

The change of heart was not lost on Oliver, who recognised this as the first time the ‘relationship disaster’ ever seriously asked questions about internet dating. Delighted at the possibility that his gorgeous, warm and loving friend might at long last find her Marley, Oliver trod carefully so as not to scare the delicate, tentative, anxious and weary lass.

‘Fuck off – no way! You’re going to do it, aren’t you?’ The wine had lubricated not only Lexi’s logjam of reservations about going online but also Oliver’s propensity to use the F-word.

‘That’s fucking great. Yay. You won’t regret it. I can totally help you write a profile. We can vet the thousands of guys who will jump at the chance to date you.’

‘Hang on, Oliver.’ Lexi wore down her heels trying to stop the freight train, but it was too late. That damn iPad was out again. Match.com, Be2, Find Someone – he pulled up several sites and started his sell job, indicating pros and cons of each. Whether Lexi was on board or not, she was now Oliver’s pupil on internet dating. She would later wish she had paid closer attention to the fine print and Oliver’s advice.

Lexi and Oliver left St John’s several hours and a bottle of bubbles later. During the time there, they covered a good intro to online dating. They discussed the dozens of friends who had tried it; Lexi recalled several Auckland girlfriends who would simply go online or use their cell for dial-in sex, now aided by Tinder. Lexi was sure that she was not into that but, not wanting to be judgmental, admitted that for some, the service had utility. The whole online thing did seem a great way to meet someone without any preconceived notions about looks, money or status. A ‘naked’ bare-all, while keeping your clothes on, tyre-kicking expedition.

It wasn’t clear who was more excited about Lexi’s decision to give online dating a go. Certainly Oliver was overjoyed he had a new project, and, while apprehensive, Alexis too was excited about taking control of a part of her life that had been neglected. She agreed she would go into it completely open-minded. Positive about the possibilities. She looked forward to that intoxicating feeling of being ‘in love’. She now, however, needed to detoxify in time to get home to make dinner for her gorgeous girls.

The thought of sharing what she had created in the bay filled her with joy and delight. Edie would say that Lexi was the captain of her ship-like home, working as she did overlooking the bay near the prow and bridge, which made her feel like Kate Winslet on the Titanic. She was independent, sure, but her heart was meant to love. Her toils and hard work meant to be shared. She wanted her Leonardo DiCaprio – or even Jack Dawson, pre-hypothermia.

She recalled when she put in an offer to buy the 1914 beach bach that originally guarded the bay. She had no recollection of the house she had viewed some hours before. No idea of number of bedrooms, appliances, the flooring. What captured Lexi’s heart was the most idyllic view she’d ever seen. She would later build her architecturally designed glass house and, of course, never throw stones. She would raise her children there. The ones who would complain of being ‘beach-sick’ if ever away for too long.

It was there that she said goodbye to the girls’ father after divorce number one. There that husband number two walked out weeks after marriage, tarnishing forever her faith, goodwill and trust in the opposite sex after he sued her for half her paradise. No wonder Alexis kept her heart and family behind a locked glass cabinet like a Fabergé heirloom – to be seen and not touched.

Maybe it was time to venture back to the dating scene. She considered the possibility.

Together with her new first mate (they could take turns playing captain; she wouldn’t mind), she could rock on the porch swing. They would be entertained by the view that had captivated her for nearly two decades – watching the planes, ferries, sailboats, kayakers, surfers, swimmers and fishing boats. They would enjoy coffee on the kayaks in the morning, take a blanket for an impromptu dinner on the beach or sit under the stars in the hot tub, where moonlit nights made the bay come alive.

Yes. She was ready to share again. She was ready to reach out and try to love. She was open to the possibility of finding Mr Right. And she was open to the notion she would find him online.

Going inside, entering the kitchen, Alexis saw Paige was on the computer googling. It definitely was not homework, she found when she came in closer to investigate.

‘Miley Cyrus is a topic on the school curriculum again, eh?’ she asked Paige.

Awaiting a reply, Alexis noticed a pop-up box in the lower left corner. It was advertising Be2.com – a dating site.

She laughed to herself. ‘Seriously, is this a sign or what?’

Putting the water on to boil, Lexi asked the girls if they thought it was time she got a new boyfriend. Surprisingly, they agreed, though what love advice does one expect from a ten-and a twelve-year-old? They discussed online dating and how it worked. They were less interested in the outcome and more in coming up with the online name for Mum. With Skye their yellow Labrador and Paris the cat representative of their former naming skills, Alexis appreciated perhaps she hadn’t fully thought this through.

In the end, the trio agreed on ‘Funny Girl’. It was not too ‘kids’ pet name-ish’ and actually was part of Alexis’s personality that she deemed an asset. ‘Humour in adversity’ was her catch-cry growing up in the hood. It would work just fine for her premiere entry to the online dating world.

It was the nineteenth of September. Nearly twenty-five years since her dad died. That went fast, she contemplated. The quickening evaporation of time over the decades meant little focus on the past, on missing her parent. C’mon, Tata, you’ll need to offer me some help from the other side if this is going to work. It was about time he came to the party with some support.

As Alexis climbed the stairs to the bedroom, she was inspired by Sir Edmund conquering Everest. Being positive about taking control of her love life, she knew she’d need to make an effort. Oliver was right – fear was holding her back. She was sure Hillary would not scoff at rising to the challenge. By the landing, she had decided to complete her profile and get the ball rolling. There was no time like the present.

There were a lot of dating sites out there, but Lexi knew Be2 was hers. They had offices throughout the globe, and Alexis liked the idea of casting a wide net to catch her man-oyster. The process was all fairly straightforward: enter your ‘online’ name, pay some money and go shopping for your ‘special someone’ (however you define them). Funny Girl signed up for premium membership for six months. Surely that’s long enough to find the man of my dreams, she thought as her MasterCard cha-chinged $270 NZD somewhere in Hünenberg, Switzerland.

She put on her crampons and grabbed the pickaxe, ready to diligently conquer the uncharted Funny Girl territory. No one mentioned it would require a packed lunch and camel ride to complete her profile. Nor did she appreciate that being online and dating was a full-time job.

Exhausted but satisfied, Alexis planted her achievement flag atop her newly acquired land. Excited and tentative, she climbed into her Cali King bed, tossing off the monogrammed L’Amore pillows, glancing at her scented candle collection. Every night she would slide into ‘her side’ of the sheets. Edie told her she could save fifty per cent in laundry costs if she just changed sides rather than sheets each week. Just wait, she thought.Before long I’ll have someone exploring my uncharted territory. She would enjoy an Armada-like victory, then, as queen with her new king, successfully reign over their love kingdom, each climbing into their respective side of the now fully utilised bed, ruling together: two hands, not one, on the coveted globe.

She smiled as she turned out the light.

‘Lord, please grant me patience …and hurry up!’

Bridging yesteryear, we are reminded how winemaker Millton marked the new millennium with a ‘celebration of tradition in these hurried and faceless times’. ‘Muskats@Dawn’ provides a ‘gentle sparkle [that] delights the senses with tropical fruit and the first blossoms of spring’. It gently guides the taste buds with the same care as Rousseau’s The Avenue in the Park Saint-Cloud guides the onlooker through the plethora of trees.

All objects d’artare eager to please to the end. For the imbiber? The motivation is to enjoy fully to the finish. For the souls on the Avenue? Reaching the really, really tiny architectural masterpiece collection point on the horizon. And online dating? It has to be the meet in the PlentyofFish.com sea, where the freestyle swimmers impress that special species to take their next plunge together.

Choices abound, in art, in drink, in food. Just look at the abundant, evolving options since the humble Eggs Bene with poached eggs, English muffin, ham and hollandaise sauce. First the meat options were extended to bacon, then salmon, and for vegetarians, replaced by some spinach or asparagus; now the staple muffin has morphed to potato cakes or scones! Our love affair with all things Spanish now adds chorizo, guac and chipotle to the menu. Ah, at least the traditional hollandaise remains.

All treasured delights in life evolve, traversing the age-old traditions and creating new ones.

Alexis could be forgiven for needing some assistance in this new find a mate online world. Feeling like Alice, she had no rulebook as she jumped down the rabbit hole on her new adventure. The path was less clear than Rousseau’s art. Luckily, the heady glee of finding and falling in love continues to entice both sexes and endures the test of time.

‘I did it,’ she bellowed to Edie through the wind. ‘I’m internet dating! Well, at least I started on-the-line yesterday.’ Her retro tech views mimicked Vince Vaughn’s in The Internship.

Never willing to miss a beat, ‘You mean online dating?’ Edie corrected.

‘Yes,’ said Alexis, exasperated. ‘You know what I mean. I’m excited. Cut me some slack, Edie!’ You had to deal back hard to Edie, or she’d keep coming at you. Edie was too clever for her own good. One of the few people who could do the hardest crosswords without help. But nothing was going to get Alexis down this morning. Well, almost nothing.

‘What’d you go and do that for?’ Alexis knew the tone. Edie did not approve, and now she’d hear why. ‘The line is full of crazies and people pretending they’re younger and skinnier and smarter than they actually are.’ The elation Lexi felt about making her first move was quickly deflating with Edie’s pinprick. ‘You’re a clever woman, Lex. C’mon, surely we can find you a real man. Not someone who needs to hide behind the screen.’

Lexi was not sufficiently grounded in her decision to stave off Edie’s attack. She had agonised on and off since her last male encounter about online or any other kind of dating. That was over six months ago. She was tired of doing nothing, and it was far too long since she’d last had sex.

‘Are we still on for book club tonight?’ Ostrich Alexis went to duck and cover. She preferred to delay or avoid the ensuing discussion. ‘I’ll bring over my potential suitors list and we can review it together. It will be fun. This way my clever friends will help me make some good choices.’

‘Yup, book club is on. And sure, bring the list of suspects. We’ll weed them out for you.’ Edie wasn’t on board with online dating, but best that she and Oliver duke it out over dinner. Alexis didn’t want to spoil her mood on such a glorious morning.

‘Perfect. See you tonight. Have a great day!’ The pair signed off and Lexi resumed her glass-half-full view of on-the-line dating. She was determined the blue online pill was the right choice for a Wonderland of options. All things happen for a reason, and her finally signing up last night would pay dividends. She was investing in her future, and she would find the love of her life. She just knew it. It was time.

Nothing in this material world quite compares to the feeling of connection with another human being. Whether it’s the closeness of holding another’s hand or the art of sex, people are inherently built for other people, to love and to be loved. It would be difficult to argue that humans should forgo the innate desire for intimacy. Look at our Lego-shaped bits, for goodness’ sake, that naturally click together. No further evidence required. But add that your person ‘is into you’ or thinks you’re awesome or pretty or amazing, or all of the above. Such is the desire for attachment that we go to many lengths to experience it. Love is the drug, and it’s easy to get addicted. Loving and being loved just make life all the more incredible.

So what would Alexis do for love? She truly believed in her heart, really deep down at the core, that one day, ‘Mr Right’ would walk into her life. Time was ticking, and she had been with a lot of Mr Right Nows. She convinced herself she just wasn’t evolved enough to appreciate the acquired tastes of former lovers. Older and wiser, and much more motivated, she was ready, willing and able to taste the real thing. And no, that doesn’t mean a Coke.