Gender dynamics in the shipping world

There are definitely days when I doubt whether my presence aboard ship serves any useful purpose whatsoever, much less whether it actually qualifies as ministry. Perhaps because all the seafarers are particularly lonely and moody after having been away from their families for the holidays, the latent sexual tension aboard ship has absolutely been through the roof since I've been back. It's getting on my nerves, to say the least. 

75% of the time, the first question I get asked by a seafarer is: "Do you have a boyfriend?" It's not that I'm unwilling to answer (resoundingly in the affirmative, for the love of god! I'm seriously thinking of procuring a fake wedding ring!), but I fail to see why it's even remotely relevant! I mean, what are the odds that, were I single, I would jump at the chance to hook up with some random dude (often 10-20 years older than me, I might add) on a ship, who I would then never be able to contact again? It's not like these conversations even take place in private - they almost always happen in group settings. And the killer is that almost all of the interrogators are themselves married (if they're bold enough to ask me, I'm sure as hell going to return the question)! Seriously, what are they hoping to accomplish!?

Today's conversations about my love life absolutely took the cake. I was on a very flirty Montenegran ship, and had already been asked the boyfriend question by at least six people. So when the third mate flopped down next to me and inquired yet again, I was already slightly peeved. After telling him that, yes, I did, the following dialogue ensued:

Seafarer: "So when are you going to get married?"

Me: (freaking out) "Uh...I don't know...uh...well..."

Seafarer: (very hopefully) "Tomorrow?"

Me: "Oh my God, NO!!"

Seafarer: (contemplative silence) "Hmm. You have a very nice nose."

Me: (failing to see how this is at all relevant) "Uh....thanks?"

Seafarer: (grunt of assent) "You should be very happy with it." 

After this incredibly unsettling conversation, and after most of the remaining crew had established that I was not, indeed, single, they left me alone with the second officer, a timid Ukrainian man  who was, ironically enough, the only person who hadn't flirted with me. There I was, counting my phone card money, while he struggled to open a huge box that a ship's chandler had just dropped off. When he finally wrenched open the carton, what should come tumbling out onto the table in front of me, but a huge case of 500 condoms. He promptly turned scarlet, and hastily tried to stuff it out of sight while I harnessed every bit of resolve toward trying not to burst out laughing.  What an utterly ridiculous ship. At least ten times a day, I think longingly of how much easier my job would be if I were male.