ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
On an unseasonably cold and wet Monday afternoon in April, Dexter Pearson’s world came crashing down around him.
The polite but ultimately simple business studies student had just planned a mid-winter escape for he and his then-girlfriend, Carrot Brick, to Lord Howe Island.
He planned to tell her over a steamy tepanyaki dinner the night of the 30th – but the evening went a different direction to what he’d hoped.
“Carrot told me she couldn’t do what we were doing anymore, apologised for not telling me sooner, then got up and left,” recalled Dexter.
The 25-year-old sat down with The Advocate this afternoon, ironically at the same tepanyaki restaurant his will to live died in almost exactly 6 months ago.
“But rather than let it get me down, I started smoking bongs again and let my housemate and his missus go on the holiday to Lord Howe. I couldn’t get a refund and I didn’t want it to go to waste. I was too busy trying to get my life back on track [laughs] I’m OK now, though,”
“The day after Carrot threw me in the shitheap, my brother came over with a little present to cheer me up. I knew all I had to do to get over the funk was to root a complete stranger, I just needed a little help.”
The silver bullet to Dexter’s lady woes, or so he thought, was a bottle of Playboy’s Miami cologne that his younger brother, Pewter, gifted him in the days after the break-up.
At 16, young Pewter revealed some trade secrets to his deadshit older brother about how to woo and swoon a woman – with the most important factor being how you smell and the amount of hair gel you have in.
However, over the past six months, Dexter has used up almost all the Playboy fragrance.
“And nothing has happened. The bottle pretty much guarantees me that women will form an orderly queue at the bar in order to give me their phone numbers. The closest I’ve been to scoring a quickfire tonne in the past six months has been some lady accidentally walked backwards into me at the bus stop. I got to smell her hair,”
“This shit is hopeless. Don’t take to me about droughts, Barnaby Joyce! I’m fucking living one!”
More to come.
