Today I did something that Mammy O’Grady would definitely not approve of. (Among other things) I joined a Latvian dating website. And no, before you jump on the mammy bandwagon, I haven’t completely lost my mind.
You see, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s only fair. I go on and on about Latvian men on here but the truth is, I’ve never actually been on a date with a Latvian. Booze-fuelled adventures, sure. But a date? Never.
I’d been mulling this over for a couple of weeks – should I/shouldn’t I/have I had that psychotic break and just not realised it yet? Then on Saturday night, the stars aligned and the decision was made for me. I was waiting outside a bar while a couple of Latvian guys chatted a few feet away. Suddenly, one of them let a rather loud fart rip. OK, so anybody can fart… the truly impressive thing was that he actually lifted his leg to do it.
There, I thought to myself, is a man who isn’t afraid to show his manly side. A true bastion of machismo and virility in a world of pink-shirted metrosexuals. I have GOT to get me one of those…
Then I dithered for a few days. If this was indicative of Latvian man (and it very well might be), was a little Irish girl like me really ready for those levels of testosterone? Finally, after increasing my own levels of wine, I decided that I was and signed up to oho.lv.
To be honest, I’m not expecting to get too many suitors. Most of the women on the site put the HO in oho. I had to send my Latvian friend a quick message just to make sure that I hadn’t lost something in translation. I didn’t want to take the chance that I was signing up to a porn star grooming service by mistake.
My German friend (helpfully?) offered to take some ‘tasteful’ pictures of me in a leopard print bikini and white boots to give me a boost in the competition against these
lumps of mutton vixens, but I gracefully declined. Instead I opted for a bit of distance with a whole lot of tree. Really, nothing turns a guy on in these parts like a tree. Or walking around amid hundreds of them.
Despite the fact that I’m probably fighting a losing battle, I’ve already picked out a couple of likely candidates. A girl can dream, right? The problem is that Latvian men seem to be incredibly picky. Each profile you click on reveals what the guy is looking for in a girl. It turns out, I’m always either too short, too tall (OK, that hasn’t happened), too heavy, too light, too old, too young, not blond enough, not dark enough, I earn too much, I earn too little, too educated, not educated enough, too ‘Capricorn’… the list goes on.
Anyway, there’s only one man I really want but I don’t dare to dream that he could ever want a girl like me.
So, for now, I’ll have to settle for lovingly stroking his rather large, um, cigar, through my laptop screen… Sigh.
Ooh, hang on, I’ve got mail! Jānis? Jānis? Is that you??