An interesting date was had last night just after our return from Carneval. I was a little confused as seven calls and thirteen texts from a man in one day was more than I had from the BD in five months. So I naturally assumed that this man was not emotionally unavailable and could even be a bit too available. There may well be another word for a man that tries to get a woman into bed when he doesn't even know her name. We had introduced ourselves when they stopped their bikes right in front of us at the riverside but maybe that was information deemed to inconsequential to take note of when you are busy being jocular about the fact that your own names are the same. (We promptly labelled them Thing 1 and Thing 2, however Dr Seuss does not translate in Argentina).
Last night, our date consisted of him asking what I wanted to do and when I said I had no Idea, not being the kind of girl who demands to be taken out for champagne and oysters, he suggested we go back to my place and 'chat'. We went along like this for a couple of hours, him suggesting we go to my place, until I realised that two rather important things I had told him had, as with my name, been disregarded. And then I realised that his wanting to get to know me meant enduring my conversation for as long as it took to get me into bed, but didn't necessarily mean he was listening.
Argentine men insist that they, unlike Europeans and frigid Americans, are full of passion. Great lovers. Great seducers of women - because they love them so much. I have found them passionate when it comes to getting what they want - somewhat lacking in the sensuality and technique departments. I'm starting to think that their passion derives from narcissism and they are simply in love with themselves.