Apparently the phrase ‘if you build it, they will come’ is from a little Kevin Costner gem called ‘Field Of Dreams’; but in its original Hollywood form was actually stated to be — ‘if you build it, HE will come’.

It was my friend Riko who suggested this cosmic theorem one day as a solution to my single status.

“All over it Riko”, I informed her, just before showing her all the beer coolers I possessed. “With half naked women on them. But still no husband? I mean, what more can I do? Do you suggest I start leaving toilet seats up, sign up for Fox Sports, and gouge air vents in my bedding for relationship induced ‘Dutch ovens’, in order for the universe to get the hint? Oh, and did I mention that I’ve built TWO dating profiles?!”

Actually, this is only a half-truth. Yes, I am the proud owner of two cyberspace ads, but in all honesty my friend Simone should be thanked for their existence because if it were up to me, I’d still have my skirt hitched while swinging from any number of nightclub edifices for the purposes of luring gentlemen.

“NO, but you’re in your late thirties. That’s how it’s done once you reach our age”, Simone informed me whilst funnelling wine down my throat. She knew that in such a state I’d follow her down the garden path, on account of seeing me follow her down many garden paths by doing so during our tour of Europe. If I recall correctly, I (semi) remember taking a quiet restaurant in Italy hostage by parading in front of the buffet with drunken dance. I can’t help but think Simone was behind that shenanigan because even in a boozed-up stupor, I’m usually one to be found diving head first into industrial vats of potato salad and croutons, rather than dancing in front of them.

On account of the spandex awful hangovers that I suffer from these days, I reluctantly agreed for Simone to sign me up at a couple of dating websites and to formulate my profiles upon them, too.

But once sober, after reading the nauseating poem that she’d featured in my ad, cut and pasted above her own words of poetry…. “fellas, just for the record, no jackhammering”, I realised a few adjustments were in order (not to the jackhammering part- no lady profile should be without it). My profile now talks of my easy-going tendencies, and my aversion to nagging, all of which are qualities that I thought were solid wifely traits.

“It has to be my profile photos that are letting me down! Do you think I should get a spray tan and push-up bra?” I pouted at Riko, after confirming for the tenth time in an hour that my dating inbox was still empty.

“Why would you do that?”

“According to this dating site’s top 100 most contacted woman, blokes prefer bronzed bosoms sprouting out of tops than hearing what I have to say while pasty white and clothed”.

I showed her the scantily clad top raters. But Riko remained adamant that my failure to attract had nothing to do with my transparent skin, and everything to do with the law of attraction. “You need to build your inner-world, too. Calm your mind and visualise, Alida, visualise”, she told me, as if channelling Mr. Miyagi.

It could be said that I’ve taken Riko’s theory to the next level. I’ve gone and waxed on, waxed off my “happily ever after”, not just on my field of dreams, but also on a field of cake coolers. Four of them sticky taped together, to be exact.

And, I haven’t just placed a picture of my hoped-for soul mate on them; I’ve also fashioned other examples of my wants and dreams across their wires too.