My Mr. Wrongs of Greece

While “Why Mr. Right Can't Find You” has been read cover to cover, I have unfortunately also learned lessons in dating through experience during my time in Greece. There's never a dull moment in my love life - which is interesting, because there never seems to be a successful moment either. I can't even take a short European vacation without being bothered by boys' bullshit. From the past, short two weeks here, my freshly experienced advice to anyone dating outside of their own country:

Just because he claims to speak English, doesn't mean he actually can.

I don't know if they think it will impress me, or maybe it's their form of a pick-up line, but I have had countless encounters with faux-English speakers. We get through the greeting, he can usually tell me his name, and once in a while I get an age, hometown, or career, but beyond that, the conversation goes downhill pretty quickly. According to the multilingual standards of the guys I've met here, I am a native English speaker, completely fluent in Spanish, know quite a bit of Greek, and my one word knowledge of Dutch translates to speaking “some” of the language. Unless he has proven his understanding of the language and can keep up past “where are you from”, don't get too excited when a guy claims to speak your language. The conversation will be pretty succinct, and you'll be back at square one, almost missing your American, English speaking douche lords.

Just because he's from a different country does not mean he will actually call when he says he will.

I'd been catching his eye all day, because he happened to be sitting next to my potential gorgeous Greek soulmate. But alas, it always needs to be the friend that is interested, and he was the one who approached me. He actually spoke plausible English, so we were able to carry a conversation. He seemed very interested, and asked for a way to contact me. I gave him a number where he could reach me, and he obviously never called. Sound familiar? Just because he's not American, doesn't mean he'll call.

They're not motorcycles, they're mopeds, and once you turn 16, you shouldn't date anyone who drives one.

I'm not really even sure how to present this dating experience except to tell you I was re-telling the story to my sister on the phone last night, and we were both having trouble catching our breath because we were laughing so hard. Conversation came easy with this guy in particular, and I eventually accepted a ride offer on his “motorcycle”. After walking to Guam and back in my stilettos, we finally approached a black replica of my 7^th grade boyfriends' moped, sans florescent orange flag. I know they are more popular to ride in Europe, and acceptable even after turning driving age, but I realized quite quickly that driving through the country side on the back of a moped, my five inch heels awkwardly clinging to the sides and hoop earrings getting tangled in my hair, is much more glamorous in the movies. Things got creepy fast when he took me to a discrete location on a dirt rode, tried to impress me with a mediocre view of the moon, and directly requested "kiss me" in an accent that went from romantic to repulsive in .2 seconds. After my request to be brought back, and his annoying remarks of "you don't like me" in the now-tarnished accent, I got my wish, and we hoped back on that sexy ride. Just to make the experience that much better, the moped proved its' worth, needing some pushing in order to make it up the country hillside. In my stilettos. I stopped trying not to laugh, made a mental note to blog about it, and concluded that mopeds need to be left to the juvenile.

Clearly European men have not influenced the success rate of my dating life, but I can't say I'm bothered. If anything, I'm thankful. They've done the unthinkable - made me actually appreciate my American counterparts. The next time at home I'm let down by a guy who doesn't call, I won't be disappointed - I'll just be grateful he drove a car and it all unfolded in English.