Smooth,
There they are, a happy couple, relaxing on the Riveria, when one of them pulls out a cigarette and suddenly smoke fills up the whole screen, destroying the view and the smoker's lungs at the same time. When my latest internet date stated proudly that he could be described in these three words, I thought of those disastrous ads. Worst of all I forgot to ask if he was a smoker before I agreed to have him pick me up in his red sports car. But that, as it turned out, was the least of my worries.
We made a date for the end of the week and he agreed to pick me up outside my university after one of my lectures. I looked forward to the idea of being picked up in an expensive sports car and cruising around the city with the top down.
At the end of the week, when a red Mini Minor, that had been turned into a convertible, pulled up right in front of me I thought it was a joke. This was his idea of a sports car? But I had to compliment him on one thing - he was probably the only man in Sydney who could boast he had a Mini Minor convertible with white wall tyres.
But my disappointment didn�t last long. The man behind the wheel was far more impressive than even the most expensive sports car could ever be. It wasn�t just his thirty-something good looks that I noticed as he opened the passenger door. It was also the suave, smooth way he held the door open and the sophisticated manner in which he held himself. His dress sense was impeccable - he looked like something out of a fashion magazine. In fact, I felt sure I�d seen his picture somewhere before but just couldn�t place where.
As I took the passenger seat he held out his hand and gave a dazzling smile that revealed perfect teeth under perfect, tanned skin. One thing was certain, he had the three Ss. I was impressed - up until the moment he opened his mouth.
"Hi, my name's Fennish, Matt Fennish. That�s Fennish with an e."
If the name wasn't enough to make me laugh out loud, the voice certainly was. It was a thin voice that belonged more on a hairdresser than a man who looked so ruggedly masculine that you could have cut diamonds on his chin. And his handshake, like his face was just as disconcertingly strong.
"How about I take you for a spin"? He almost lisped
I almost said: 'In this?' But the car was surprisingly maneuverable, and as we headed down the highway we weaved in and out of heavy traffic as effortlessly as a kid on a skateboard. For something that looked almost as small as a toy car it moved like the real thing. Putting his foot down we took off, easily outdistancing the other cars, some of which were genuine sports cars. With the top down, and the wind blowing my hair everywhere, I felt like one of the jet-set, or its equivalent when you're in a pretend sports car. The question of where I�d seen him continued to nag me until we stopped at an intersection � then I realised where I'd seen this man before.
It was the clothes and the face that made the connection. As someone who regularly wears Country Road I immediately recognised that everything he was wearing was from the upmarket Country Road label: white, short sleeved Country Road polo, brown Country Road linen pants and Country Road boat shoes. And the face. With that strong jaw line, tanned complexion and square jaw with the cleft, he was the face of Country Road.
I was dating a model!
But I still couldn't get over the fact that his voice just didn't fit the identikit of his famous pictures. And I had to think to myself: 'great face but pity about the voice'. Maybe he could take voice lessons and butch the pitch up a bit?
It now all came together. The car, the job and the clothes. Matt had given me a different impression on the internet. When he had said he was a manager in retail he had really meant he served behind the counter at Country Road, as a shop assistant not as an accounts executive! The modeling work he did was a little bit of extra cash on the side of his real job-shop assistant. This explained the fact that he didn't have a real sports car and that all the clothes he was wearing were freebies from Country Road - probably leftovers from his shoots.
