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The Eastern European parade of misplaced egos

Eastern Europe is one of the few areas left on the self-sufficient part of the planet, where some women (very few left so hurry up), are still tickled by the idea of putting on a visual show to engross male ego to the stars, made by the same dust as their all-mighty wallets. Indeed, boys still travel east to look for women or better, their self-worth.

Girls, if you want to be in the race you have to be perfectly clothed, preferably wear very uncomfortable dresses, ironed to itching perfection. You have to smell impeccably, a fragrance worth your monthly salary, or someone else’s. You have to have perfect skin, nails, make-up, shaved where no razor has gone before. Last but not least, you have to be thin but also curved. Your beauty has to make a man think in perspective.

You have to pretend to be interested in the foreigner only, at least one foreigner at the time, and take no pleasure from the surroundings, unless wined and dined in a masonic mid-budget restaurant. It’s better if you don’t speak too much English, any elaborated speech would bore to death your vodka intoxicated companion. You have to act like you have no history, no critical thinking or any memory of progress trapped in your smooth wrinkles.

You’re religiously dedicated to square meters of sentimental confinement and if it happens to have the foreigner’s arm wrapped around your promising waist, make sure they become part of a future 4 walls scenario. I don’t know exactly what happens under the covers, if your guest can perform after all that alcohol, but I heard some very theatrical female moans, which would raise the dead from their graves and have them interested in getting a residence permit.

So what happens next, Joe? You finish your smooth talk, gentleman duties and move on? Or you have an epiphany and marry the gorgeous girl? They have these flash ”Married in one day” 2 x 1 unlimited offer for at least the next couple of years.

So what happens next, Ina? No success, next dress, one more try? Or you suddenly realise that these silly times are gone? You can now wear normal clothes and make an art piece of your mind. You can travel, open a business, work hard, read – now everything is available. I really get it, you know; I’m Romanian, but times have changed. You can come down from the soul and sole killing high heels and put on some atomic balls, instead.

Then the world will become a bit more interesting, but less fu*kable; more like Musk smoking weed and talking about global warming. Imagine that – if in the future we’ll have to take interest in heads attached to those bodies and legs. If we all soon become aroused by wild thoughts and the poetry of human mind. If we all first build an universe and then copulate in it?

The Eastern European parade of misplaced egos

Eastern Europe is one of the few areas left on the self-sufficient part of the planet, where some women (very few left so hurry up), are still tickled by the idea of putting on a visual show to engross male ego to the stars, made by the same dust as their all-mighty wallets. Indeed, boys still travel east to look for women or better, their self-worth.

Girls, if you want to be in the race you have to be perfectly clothed, preferably wear very uncomfortable dresses, ironed to itching perfection. You have to smell impeccably, a fragrance worth your monthly salary, or someone else’s. You have to have perfect skin, nails, make-up, shaved where no razor has gone before. Last but not least, you have to be thin but also curved. Your beauty has to make a man think in perspective.

You have to pretend to be interested in the foreigner only, at least one foreigner at the time, and take no pleasure from the surroundings, unless wined and dined in a masonic mid-budget restaurant. It’s better if you don’t speak too much English, any elaborated speech would bore to death your vodka intoxicated companion. You have to act like you have no history, no critical thinking or any memory of progress trapped in your smooth wrinkles.

You’re religiously dedicated to square meters of sentimental confinement and if it happens to have the foreigner’s arm wrapped around your promising waist, make sure they become part of a future 4 walls scenario. I don’t know exactly what happens under the covers, if your guest can perform after all that alcohol, but I heard some very theatrical female moans, which would raise the dead from their graves and have them interested in getting a residence permit.

So what happens next, Joe? You finish your smooth talk, gentleman duties and move on? Or you have an epiphany and marry the gorgeous girl? They have these flash ”Married in one day” 2 x 1 unlimited offer for at least the next couple of years.

So what happens next, Ina? No success, next dress, one more try? Or you suddenly realise that these silly times are gone? You can now wear normal clothes and make an art piece of your mind. You can travel, open a business, work hard, read – now everything is available. I really get it, you know; I’m Romanian, but times have changed. You can come down from the soul and sole killing high heels and put on some atomic balls, instead.

Then the world will become a bit more interesting, but less fu*kable; more like Musk smoking weed and talking about global warming. Imagine that – if in the future we’ll have to take interest in heads attached to those bodies and legs. If we all soon become aroused by wild thoughts and the poetry of human mind. If we all first build an universe and then copulate in it?

Georgiana Bularca

Georgiana Bularca

I passionately like and dislike all opposite things at the same time.

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