I have been writing about bad dates and how stupid men are for most of my adult life, but it used to center around American men. There’d be an occasional Austrian that would stick me with the check or slam a door in my face, but it was usually Americans who asked me out. This has since changed, but recently I’ve been asked a lot, “Do you like dating Americans or European men better?” After a fair amount of research, I can say with some authority that dating is the same in every country. It gets no better anywhere, but I feel I should document what I’ve uncovered in my studies.
(I am sorry if I offend anyone by making generalizations about where they’re from, but you’ve got to know there are idiots everywhere!)
The British ones are the worst. They all have this idea in their heads that their cute accent is going to get them whatever they want, that all they have to do is go to some bar and tell some drunk chick a cute story about something cute that happened to them in Ireland or Scotland or whatever—because whatever it is, it’s cute. And the really sad thing is it’s true; we don’t care what they’re saying as long as they’re talking and they freaking know it. This is my favorite thing that’s wrong with European men, it’s like they think we’re idiots. The dating site messages are funny to me because they’ll always mention the accent in the first email; they know it’s the Trump card and they’ll usually send you something self deprecating, like, “I have a strong Scottish accent, you may not be able to understand me.” Bullshit.
This is a ploy. They know we’re going to understand them and they also know we can’t turn down a date with them. When a man says to you, “You’re an American Girl, surely you must like English accents” what he’s really thinking is, “I wonder what she’ll want for breakfast.”
I know how this works, I’m a pretty smart cookie, but the weird thing is that I am not immune to it. I fall for it just like every other American girl, I won’t even bother denying it! A perfect example of this is the time I went out with the Scotsman~ he was adorable, of course. It was amazing. It didn’t matter what he said, I was eating it all up. He was some kind of diver or underwater welder or something and he said to me, “It’s a good day when I’m underwater for twelve hours and I don’t shit myself. That’s my definition of a good day, I usually have to be hosed down when I finish a dive. Diarrhea is messy. ”
He said this to me while I was eating, but I didn’t react normally, I just smiled and nodded and waited for him to say the next delightful thing; I didn’t even hear it until later. I wasn’t registering what he was saying, I only heard how goddamn CUTE it sounded. I remember he dropped me off and kissed me goodbye and then I started going over the night in my mind, that was when I realized what he’d said, but get this: I still thought it was cute.
This is huge, I’m telling you. You don’t see it with Italians, not even with sexy French guys who sound like that talking candlestick on the Disney Channel. I’m to the point where I no longer take the British seriously. If Scuba Shitter had called me again (which he didn’t, I’m assuming he was lost at sea), I would have gone out with him a second time. Or a third time . . . or a fourth time . . . and so on. Can you imagine if it had gotten serious? An entire relationship of him telling me he crapped his scuba suit (or cheated on me or burned my house down or accidentally fed my dog rat poison) and me thinking it’s all adorable?
A British accent is too risky, it impairs your judgment. I should know better by now, but I don’t seem to be learning anything; I will overlook almost anything when faced with a good English accent~ I have been at war with England for a long time. I am not winning.
If there’s a silver lining at all here it’s that I don’t respond to an Albanian accent this way. Most British guys are pleasant, even the asshole ones aren’t too terribly offensive, but the Albanians?
There are a lot of gorgeous Albanian guys out there, a LOT. Tall, gorgeous, Gucci wearing Albanians were a dime a dozen where I grew up, but I’d learned not to date them by the age of nineteen. They’d hang out at Starbucks in packs, offering underage girls beer if they came back to their apartments! I think I need a nap if I’m going to write about the Albanians . . . wondering how they drove BMWs and wore Armani while making minimum at McDonalds is going to take a lot out of me!
(WHEW! This is exhausting!)