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The truth is, we don’t have the slightest clue of what’s going on right in front of us.Case in point: last summer I met your typical Italian-American goombah at an aperitivo on the Isola one night.My sympathies went out to him because his plight is a common one.American men just don’t have the skills or the experience to successfully play the game in Rome.For years they’ve assumed that “I don’t like you” is not to be taken seriously, whereas “I like you” is synonymous with “let’s go to bed.” This new honesty puts them off because it neutralizes their advantage in the hunt.Herein lies the conundrum and perhaps one of many reasons why the birth rate among Italians is among the lowest in the western world.
He was in Rome for a few months on a very specific mission: to meet and eventually marry a nice Italian girl.But their homegrown women are becoming much too modern for their tastes and so they might be happier eventually marrying a nice Russian girl who looks good in her high heels and short skirt and behaves herself properly (read: submissively) as long as the Gucci handbags are gifted with regular frequency. devastated by the Latin Lover, but now spoiled by his doting affections, making her compatriots seem, well, boring by comparison. My central idea for the article was to explore how difficult it can be to discern something as unwritten and subtle as courtship protocols in another country.American girls are overwhelmed by the attention given to them by all the Romeos on Vespas, but then are heartbroken when they realize the true (read: temporary/sexual) nature of the boy’s interest. And what’s to become of the poor Italian girl who’s much too sophisticated to be attracted to an American and much too intolerant to betroth herself to an Italian? It took me more than four decades to figure out my own culture’s accepted norms and then all of a sudden I had to question everything and start from scratch. In fact, my Italian wife and I are doing our part to populate the next generation of Italians. So now it’s more important than ever for me to figure out what those mischievous little boys are up to so that I can…kill them all no matter where the hell they come from!I asked him how his quest was going and the sound of his bubble bursting must have been audible from across the piazza.But after talking to him for a few minutes I came to realize that his ideal “Italian” woman bore a striking similarity to Snookie from the Jersey Shore and looked nothing like the Italian women that I knew. He probably would’ve known how to handle Snookie—but I’m quite sure that he had underestimated the mortal danger he would have encountered if, by some random chance, a real Italian woman would have shown some interest.