Dating an irish woman
How does it happen then, you may ask—it’s no secret we’re a nation well-able to duplicate ourselves.
As I see it, there are two main avenues of pursuit in the modern, Irish pool of twentysomethings.
I’m jealous that at least it’s still possible and even welcomed (by the Emily Heist Mosses of the country), for a normal guy to walk right up to a girl in the supermarket aisle and ask her out. Take a chance, and grab that frozen turkey with both hands.
A few decades ago, the first international dating agencies appeared.
In our first couple days we went down to get ourselves mobiles (or as the case may be). He was a good looking dude.” Her face sank into her bags, “He was GORGEOUS. I didn’t know what to say.” A western-world culture clash.
One of the girls went to pay for hers, and the good-looking guy behind the counter said, “Do you mind, if I put my number in here before you go? ” His face fell, “So I can take you out some time.” “Oh,” she replied, flustered and blushing, “No, that’s OK. Through my over-exposure to American pop culture, it seems to me (and please, correct me if I’m wrong) that there is something of a grace period in dating, where it is possible to date a number of people at once, up to a certain point. If you were rumored to have been to the movies with Laura on Wednesday, but out for a drink with Danielle on Saturday, you would be hunted down by a posse of their fathers, their brothers, and the local postman.