According to her range of dating profiles, Helen Razer was a 41-, 43-, or maybe 44-year-old woman. According to this book, she was heartbroken enough to require a crack team of doctors. But there is no hospital for the freshly deceived. Instead, there's The Helen 100.
One dry Melbourne summer afternoon, Helen's partner of fifteen years announced without warning that she 'needed to grow', and left in the Toyota. Helen remained in her pyjamas, ordering barbecue chicken, and crying on her cat.
After two days of disclosing her foulest thoughts on a XXX app, quitting her terrible job, and receiving bad advice from her discount shrink, she cried again; this time on her beauty therapist, who dared her to go on 100 dates inside a year.
Razer agrees to date 100 people, stopping only if she finds one who likes the smell of chicken.
'It's Bridget Jones, but for angry communists.' -One of Helen's mates
'... Eat, Pray, Love, but for arseholes.' -Another one of Helen's mates
'I'm using those for the back of the book.' -The author
