When one thinks of the English, there are various images that spring to mind. For example, James Bond, the archetypal English gentlemen come action man, or the aristocracy, as seen in Downton Abbey. Others might think of our love of alcohol, drunken fights in the street after closing time or women walking around in mini skirts in freezing conditions, these are but some of the common images that people have of my countrymen, which brings me to the subject of today’s post.
As part of the shallow man’s never-ending quest, to seek out and share experiences of life in the Netherlands to my ever-growing flock, I’ve reached out to a Dutch lady by the name of Florence Gielen, of Utrecht, a place I prefer to run through rather than stay. Florence had some forthright opinions of one of my articles, so I invited her to share one of her dating experiences. As if trying to ruffle the feathers of the perfectly dressed shallow man, she immediately started telling me about an experience she had in Amsterdam with an Englishman.
She certainly has some harsh words to say about one of my countrymen. If as a result, I’m hunted down by a group of angry Brits, wearing only thin shirts without jackets or coats in the middle of winter, while slurring their words due to drinking too much warm beer, I’ll look my tormentors in the eyes and shout a German phrase I learnt once “leck mich am arsch.” The things I do for my readers!
The shallow man will head to what he hopes will be a quiet lunch where he won’t sit next to a table of shouting Dutch Antelope. I’ll now hand over the page to Florence.
Dating mistakes made by men the three strikes of doom
London is hands down one of my favourite places in the world and I love a proper English gentleman as much as the next girl. Apart from their bad teeth and their limited height, they’re chic, polite, well dressed and eloquent. Brits are renowned for their dry sense of humour, and a handsome witty Londoner has certainly never disappointed.
A week or two ago my English girlfriend and I decided to have drinks in the cultural center of the Netherlands, Leidseplein in Amsterdam. Before too long we ran into a Brit who invited us to the club where he worked. He was meeting his brother there and he told us proudly that we’d be able to get free drinks. Although he was tall and good looking, his style was shall we say…….. questionable. His hair was like something from a nineties boy band. He also wore a wifebeater (I assume to show off his biceps), but his white pants were what bothered me the most. I usually have a 3-strikes-and-you’re-out system, but with a foreigner, I was willing to be more lenient. The outfit I could overlook.
We sat down in the VIP section of the club and he got us a drink. So far so good. We started talking and I noticed how nervous he seemed. Now, as a tall, blonde, blue-eyed antelope, I am used to foreign men being slightly intimidated by me. I made a remark to my friend about it, to which she replied: “He’s just a bit shy, bless him.” But this was too much. His hands were sweaty, he was mumbling and he couldn’t sit still. Not sexy. To an antelope, confidence is key.
In an attempt to make small talk this charming example of modern British manhood asked me how many people I’d slept with. Dumbfounded, I was unable to think of an appropriate response. So he broke the silence by offering his own estimation: “fifty?” My jaw nearly hit the floor. “Are you calling me a slut?” I asked him. In utter disbelief, I looked at my friend and she said: “No, in England guys think this is a compliment. He’s trying to tell you you’re an attractive girl and you could get some.” Fine, I was willing to stick around, but this was strike two.
The night went on and our glasses were empty. He offered us another drink and went to the bar. After a couple of minutes, he came back and said: “Would you mind paying for these? My manager is at the bar and is giving me a hard time.” Now, I’m a modern emancipated woman, but I do not expect to pay for drinks if I’m specifically invited somewhere with the promise of drinks on the house. Reluctantly I pulled out my wallet and handed him the cash. Who says chivalry is dead? This guy, apparently.
Willing to give him one more chance to impress me, we decided to stay a little longer. At this point, my friend was talking to the guy’s brother and our own conversation didn’t seem to be going too badly. All of a sudden he upped the ante. He leaned in and said with an air of confidence:
“You know what? You’re really hot, you have a great body and I wouldn’t mind fucking you.”
Needless to say, I was speechless. It even got my friend’s attention, who was deep in conversation at the time. She turned her head, looked at him and asked him: “Did you just say what I think you did?” Strike four…
Enough was enough, we were leaving. We made our excuses and grabbed our things. He gave my friend the typical Dutch goodbye, three kisses on the cheek. Ironic, as they are both English. As I walked up to him, he seemed very nervous again. I was expecting to get the same farewell and was surprised when he held out his hand. He edged closer, grabbed my hand and gave me a ‘bro shake’. Did I just get bro-zoned?! That’s strike five. Game over. Game definitely over.
The Shallow man would like to thank
The lovely Florence for sharing her experience with us. I had no idea that in the UK it’s a compliment to suggest that a lady has slept with lots of men, I’ve obviously been away for too long as I don’t understand how in the name of Bob Marley (God bless his Reggae soul) that this could ever be complimentary. Perhaps it’s a generational thing.
For more tips on how to date the Dutch Antelope, you’ll have to read The Shallow Man Guide to Dating the Dutch.
No boybands were hurt during the writing of this article.
Till next time, hou je Bek!