Tuesday, March 17, 2009


We all hear stories about some women's biological clocks ticking down but what happens when a guy informs you that it SHOULD be ticking? Thanks E for the submit.

After a long week at work, Friday night arrives. It’s time for me to dress up a bit and go to my favorite bar - a well-known lounge hangout in the CBD - before joining friends for a birthday party.

I know a lot of people who are already at the bar so I sit down next to them. Then I’m introduced to a guy who I’d never met but was with their group.

He was a European guy, early 40s, who tells me straightforwardly after gallantly giving me his seat, "I like George Bush".

I should have backed off right away, but a bit of paradox ... and actually, why would I care?

Seeing that I’m not biting on his pro-Bush agenda and have instead opened up my Economist, he keeps on after studying my face for a bit before speaking.

"You’re very beautiful."
"Well, thank you."
"All the men at the bar are watching you."

I was the only blond and the male to female ratio was 5:1 with the male contingent belonging squarely to the of 50y old, beer belly in a power suit, 2 cocktails in and balding sect. I don t think I’m butt ugly but I know these factors sure help. But hey, thanks for the compliment anyway, tipsy Bush fan.

Seeing how his drunken speech (and armpit BO) haven’t sent me swooning just yet he persists trying to engage me in another conversation. Below in our abysmal dialogue that spanned 20 excruciating minutes. I’ve put the my non-expressed thoughts (was trying to stay somewhat civil) in brackets.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Actually no (it’s more complicated than that, as it always is)"
"If I didn’t have a girlfriend already, I’d ask you to become my girlfriend. Do you want to have babies?"
"But you re beautiful and you seem kind, you should have babies."
"I m sorry but my biological clock is AWOL, so be it. I’ve a dog."
"I’ve a baby. It’s wonderful. You should have one. When you will meet the right one, you will know immediately (Great, that’s an interesting piece of information I already got from Barbara Cartland, thanks). In Beijing, men only want to fuck (and women never?), you’ll never meet somebody in this bar (Yeah, the more I’m talking to you, the more I’m realizing it). It’s difficult here for women." (No! really? I should tell my girlfriends, that’s a scoop)
"Yes, and?" I turn back to my magazine. It’s my Friday night and I’m getting a lecture only not from my therapist or my mum, but from a drunk, profusely sweating Polish guy. What a joy!
"You re very beautiful, I am talking to you like a friend. How old are you?"
I give him my age, more than Bridget Jones, less than Jesus. He looks at me solemnly and slurs,
“You only have 3 years left to have babies. After 35 ..." he pauses here in a horrified silence with a beer glazed look on his stupid face.

By now I’m fully annoyed and I go off on him.

"Hey, I don’t think I need you describing to me about the guys here in Beijing. I’m actually living it so thanks. As for the rest, it’s none of your business. I’ve worked all week (getting up at 5.30am and studying outside of my working hours, I m very, very tired), and it’s Friday night, my only night out. I want to enjoy my drink without you nagging me in my ear and by the way, it’s Valentine s Day tomorrow, so just don t rub it in anymore. Believe me, I know.

And hey, I don’t know you so thanks for your concern but let’s just limit ourselves to subjects that aren’t so personal. I think it’ll work out better for the both of us. "

He looks at me like I had deeply, deeply hurt his feelings (you got to love the navel-centricity of some males)

"But I m your friend, and you’re really beautiful, but you only have 3 years left."

He’s obviously not getting it so I pointedly turn back to my magazine.

He repeatedly comes back with "I’m your friend", till I raise an eyebrow to which he says,

"Don’t frown, it makes you wrinkle on the forehead."

I’m too polite to make a scene and couldn’t be bothered to try reason him again (an obviously losing battle). I was running late for my party so this seemed like a good time to leave. I guess if you can’t beat them, get the hell outta there.

I excused myself to the other people and left.

I later found out that the guy was actually there, boozing away, because he had had an argument with his girlfriend/mother of his baby. I also heard that this caring gentleman left the bar a bit later, loudly calling all my friends still there, “a bunch of gays” after they realized what he had said to me and gave him the cold shoulder. How charming.