Were you aware that the United States had royalty, now living in London? And did you know that Lithuania had a royal family that bestowed upon us unsuspecting Londoners a fair princess? No, neither did I until I dated such royalty. It all started when I arranged a date via Match.com to meet what seemed to be an attractive and amiable American girl who seemed genuinely interested in me.
I nearly didn’t make it as I was hungover from the night before and I was worried that I may have to introduce her unexpectedly to my friend, Captain Chunder. And no-one would want to see that. But I manage to perk up a little and made it on time to be met with a girl; American – yes, but who looked absolutely nothing like any of her pictures. I couldn’t help but squint at her, wondering if I had been the victim of a stitch up. So then she thought I looked shifty and asked if I was okay. I told her that my hangover may cause me to be slightly less lucid than normal, expecting her to laugh it off – we’ve all been there, right? Well clearly not this girl, as my admission went down about as well as if I had told her that I may be a bit stoned as I’d just lit up a crack pipe. I quickly tried to move the conversation on a little, but mainly was forced to listen to her telling me what her rich friends were up to. A couple she knows own a Mediterranean island, don’t you know, possibly Malta or something.
I tried to feign interest, honestly I did. At one point I’ve even clapped… No, actually I think that was just when I slapped my face to stay awake. And then she hit me with it: “I found your profile to be very funny but, I have to say, you’re not impressing me with your sense of humour”. She was actually giving me in-date feedback! What did she expect me to do, prepare a short comedy sketch for her? I was dumbstruck by her rudeness. In her mind she is such a catch to men that she expects to be the centre of attention, feels there is no need to take interest in others and would probably be happy if I threw my jacket over a puddle to save her little princess feet from a splash. She probably had her servant dismissed for placing a pea under her mattress, thus making it too uncomfortable for her… I could maybe have understood slightly if she looked like a supermodel but let’s just say I wouldn’t touch her with yours.
More recently I met a Lithuanian girl who seemed a little quiet. In fact, to begin with I wasn’t sure if she was mute and possibly communicating just by blinking, but I thought she looks good in tight jeans and we could probably make do with pointing. It turns out that she was the stereotypical soviet-style ice princess. If she didn’t find something amusing, she found no reason to do anything other than stare blankly, with no flicker of emotion. I tried to impress her with my wit, but it’s hard to maintain a one-sided conversation, with my comments followed by more blinking.
Another problem with a princess is that, naturally, she won’t carry money with her, as a princess will have things given to her just for the privilege of her presence. Either that or she had short arms and long pockets. It had to end once I was considering remortgaging the house to pay for a special royal cocktail and I’d lost in a blink-off with her, to see who would crack and talk first. Don’t get me wrong, I love treating a special girl who respects me for who I am and doesn’t expect royal treatment, but I don’t do high maintenance, so ‘daddy’s little princess’ can look elsewhere. I’d rather spend a quiet evening in with Handolina than bust a gland trying to impress you! Sexual equality works both ways you know your majesty.