What is a 'Male Landlady'?

I’ve just interviewed my first foreign prospect, a young French male. This whole renting process is way more complex than I ever could have anticipated. The more I meet interested prospects, the more I realise we both have to work our imagination really hard and figure out what it might be like to live with each other. This isn’t even something that singletons do every weekend when they go in search of the perfect mate. But in this situation, visualising the habits and foibles of a housemate is required before you know anything else about them.

Lara, my dog co-parenting neighbour, invited me for dinner on Sunday, with her husband working in Sydney she, like me, craves adult company every now and then. Her brother was also invited, we’d never met before. I brought them up to date on the recent rental prospects, one of whom was a thin, small woman who instantly loved the house, loved the dog, offered to walk the dog and mop the floors.  I had a good think about it and consulted CC#2, the young Buddha, ‘I don’t know mom, sounds like she wants a friend too.’ Well she did say that to me alright, wants to make friends. ‘I think I just have to get out of my comfort zone,’ I told young Buddha. ‘Y’know, just get used to having another woman around.’ ‘Mom, be patient,’ he counselled. She promised to return with a deposit the following day. Four days later we were still trying to arrange the deposit handover when I noticed she’d put up her own ad on DAFT. Maybe that was a lucky escape. 

In the meantime, I’d left a perfectly nice woman and young man waiting. Two more youngish men later, one planning where his piano will fit, the other complaining about the distance from the LUAS, but coveting the wardrobe space, and I’m beginning to see this may take a lot longer.  As I continued about the renting sagas, Lara’s brother said, ‘I think you should stick with males, you’re clearly a male landlady.’ 

‘What?’ I asked in utter shock; however there were three children at the table, so I couldn’t even joke with him. ‘Yes, the way you speak and hold yourself, you’d be better off sticking with men.’ I’m still trying to figure out what he meant. The following day, I was at lunch with two dapper gentlemen, one of whom I’d only met once before. He told me I reminded him of Helen Mirren – ‘No! She’s much older than I am,’ I cried, ‘can’t I just be like Cate Blanchett?’ Someone more compassionate had told me I reminded him of her. Again, this man said it was the way I held myself, just like Helen Mirren, well I bet she isn’t tidying her house every morning wondering who’s coming to inspect it.

Did I call those guys dapper gentlemen? They ordered fine food, finer wine and told filthy jokes, just the kind of bad boy lunch you need to start off the week. By then I had seen three more prospects, a young woman with an 8’ kayak, who was enough of a tomboy, for me to get on with. A very pretty, puppy-eyed girl, who was so quiet and gentle, I would try to find her lodgings elsewhere if it didn’t work out with the co-op board. And, what promised to be the ideal candidate, the one Young Buddha has been waiting for. 

I told the bad boys about him and his business which I’d just googled. All looked good, works here during the week, goes home to UK at weekends and travels extensively. The perfect dovetail to lodger Adam, he wanted a few days to think about it. The bad boys are reminded of a filthy joke, I can never remember them.  

The young French male has left after the guided tour and the dissection of our respective lives and habits. A perfectly nice specimen, just not sure if it will work, he got too excited about the kitchen, a vegetarian who likes to cook every night, needs my parking spot in the driveway and his bike in the hall. Where was he when I had school children to feed?