It's Not You, It's Me

I will admit this to readers tonight: I came to Argentina with a very small, vain hope of finding my dream man. I wanted to find a handsome, dark Argentine man that had money, culture, a world-class education, and high aspirations. I dreamed that I’d marry this man and we’d split our time between the US and Argentina. To further encourage this dream was a couple at the Pacific Athletic Club where I worked in San Diego. Jean-Claude met his wife, Mrs. Jean-Claude, while she was studying abroad in France. Almost as if we were on the same man-hungry, female wavelength, Mrs. Jean-Claude said to me the first time I told her of my trip, “Ooh, can’t wait for you to bring home a beautiful Argentine husband!” I laughed and thought, “Trust me, I can’t wait either!”

Or did I say that out loud?

I have come to a disappointing and humbling conclusion about this prototypical Argentine dream man: he and I just don’t fit. In three+ months, I’ve done my best to determine why this is. Firstly, sense of humor is a cornerstone to a good friendship/relationship, a mode of communication. And if you were to judge me by my elementary Spanish, you’d probably presume that I have no sense of humor whatsoever. If I can’t make a boy laugh and I can’t decipher anything worth a laugh in his jokes delivered in rapid-fire Spanish, there’s no way we’d ever “hit it off” immediately. Secondly, I’ve realized that any Argentine man who shows an interest in you is most likely just trying to get into your pants because he’s heard that “norteamericanas” are easy. This idea scares and offends me. It makes me assume that they are not supposed to get serious with American girls, but instead are expected to settle down with other Argentine girls. Why are American girls not worth genuine attention? This question requires a complicated answer, complicated even more by the fact that I’m not totally sure of the answer. I have noted that women here are, to be blunt, frigid. They are not terribly friendly and they are very aware of Argentine propriety. I don’t really care about propriety. I am a messy eater in most settings, my legs aren’t always shaved, and I like to drink cheap beer. Most American guys would probably smile at these qualities and think “low-maintenance, a good thing.” Most Argentine guys would probably roll their eyes at these qualities and think, “I can’t take THAT home to meet my parents.”

You would think differences in land, lifestyle, and language would be interesting and exciting in a romantic relationship. But something just doesn’t click between Argentine boys and me. When it comes down to it, there seems to be a cultural gap that I just can’t bridge.

So I will most likely leave here with no love notes or promises. Sorry, Mrs. Jean-Claude. I guess I’m just too damned American.


Disclaimer: I speak for myself here. I think there can be exceptions. Melissa, I wish you the best.