Or like, the Farm Girl and the Toads

Every time I leave for some new place, people tell me I’m about to meet the love of my life. Moving to a different city? I’ll find the One there. Going to a different country? Prince Charming is waiting there for me. Crossing oceans? People are hearing wedding bells! Even know, living in the loneliest, remotest place ever, my friends send me daily reminders that the cowboy of my dreams is on his way. Guys, seriously, all these cities, literally different continents, and I’m still single. It’s obvious what the common denominator is. Stop trying to make non-single me happening, it’s not going to happen.

Every year, boss-man and boss-lady have lots of people working for them on the station. Work hard during the week, chill out on the weekend at a camp-draft (some kind of horse event, couldn’t really explain if I had to). The way they talk about life on the farm here during those months sounds exciting and lots of fun. Heaps of people around, events happening, it’s all I ever hoped for. Boss-man told me the employees usually have some good times together as well, if you catch my drift. Young, pretty (I don’t actually know that part, but it’s good for the story) people, all stuck together in the littlest of places, shit is bound to go down. Unfortunately, as is my luck, I’m all by myself here. They have been talking about finding a replacement for the backpacker that just left, but I’m not expecting that to be the great love story everyone has been hoping for. Let’s be real here, I couldn’t find a guy I liked in the whole of Sydney, the odds of the literal only other guy showing up here being the man of my dreams, are second to none. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for him to be at least cute enough to flirt with.

Despite my Cinderella lifestyle, my incessant conversations with pigs and chicks, and the being surrounded by toads and the occasional frog, my life has not (yet?) actually turned into a fairy tale. There has been no fairy god mother – although my boss-lady brings me chocolate sometimes, which is the second-best thing I guess –, no pretty dress appearing out of thin air, no seven dudes to keep me company, and so far, the animals have not yet caught up with the fact that they should be helping me clean – hell, all those stupid peacocks ever do is shit on my clean veranda. However, this one time, walking out of my room to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, something gross, slimy, and frog-like fell on my head. That must be a sign, right? Good or bad, I’ll let you decide.