Dating Emergency 101: An Argentine Woman's Perspective

by Antonia Cossia

“Oh, yes, I am the great pretender; pretend that I’m doing well. My need is such, I pretend too much; I’m lonely, but no one can tell” -Freddy Mercury


Spare me some of your attention and I will try to explain just how many argentine women have become just as beautiful as sentimentally complex. For most men, falling for one of us can be an amazing experience. Either amazingly wonderful or amazingly rocky.

Most of the complications come because some of us are scared to death to show how we feel, just in case the man in front of us plays us for fools because “we are too easy”, or leaves because “it’s too much” for them. That is, of course, in case they even explain why they’re going away.

Ever since we’re old enough for make up and high heels we have to deal with pretty much the same awkward situations any other girl has to deal with anywhere else in the world: first period, first bra, first date…

There are a few differences when it comes to social pressure: for example, Argentina has one of the highest rates of eating disorder cases, mostly among young women (by that I mean girl from the age of 12 to 18).

When it comes to argentine men, I honestly cannot explain what it is that they have inside their head, so I will not bore you with dull hesitation. Some of them will speak honestly about their feelings, some of the won’t and most of them will say exactly what they don’t want to say, but will say it for the sake of not looking undermined in front of their peers.

Argentine women, on the other end... We cannot make up our mind. Either because we are proud creatures, or highly prejudiced; because of fear, shyness or because we are still hung up on a previous relationship and we are oblivious to the man we have in front of us.

Whatever the reason may seem, a man needs to know patience is always a key to getting where they want to be. We will try and keep you guessing, and create some mystery, and in the end you were either “picked” or not: we knew the answer all along; we were simply making sure you were “worth it”.

Hesitation is our specialty, no doubt about it. I must be honest: no matter how tough we want to show ourselves, we are all just hoping the “gaucho” will eventually use his brains and notice how we could turn the amazingly rocky into amazingly wonderful. Again, it’s all a matter of making sure we won’t be wasting our feelings, our time and so on and so forth.

Found any contradictions yet? I bet you have.


*

E. G. Hesitation, a one act play by an argie-female:

I cannot believe this is happening to me, but it IS happening to me. I am checking my emails every 2 minutes and I am glancing at my msn account every 4 seconds (not joking, situation is critical). I can’t smile, can’t tell jokes and I can barely eat (which is outrageous for my standards).

This never happened to me before, I promise. I’m having second thoughts for the first time in my life: Is he ever going to talk to me again? Does he even care about me? Was this whole “thing” one big fat bogus in my head? Why can’t he just talk to me?!

Funny thing is: I am usually the smart-pants who will either lecture or “pick up the mess” when a guy dumps one of my friends. Yet this time around, I find myself writing about how bad one can feel when things go wrong with someone you particularly cared about.

Let me try and put it in words: I feel… sad, ok, then anxious, the sad again, barely ok, a little less anxious… and sad again. I cry a bit, smile very little, smile a little more… and cry another bit. There is nothing any friend, sister or anyone can tell that will make me feel better. Word.

And by now, I don’t know if I am being stupid, if I was even more stupid in the past, or if he is being a complete bastard because he is not talking to me. Or maybe I disserve it. Now, that cannot be it, right?

See, I messed things up from the start. I let him sweep me of my feet… and then I let my big mouth get in the way. I kept the “just a flirt/just sex” speech far too long, and played along as if nothing meant anything to me other than an occasional meeting.

I was dishonest, but not to him: I cheated on myself by forcing to believe my own speech. I practically ate my own garbage! And I fed him the same thing until he was stuffed and ready to go. Even if he was only in for fun, with all the more reason I should have made it clear I wanted more.

Maybe I still do, but please do not let him know.

All of those “coulda’ shoulda’ woulda’” are completely useless now. They are “Drama Queen” material. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is none other than typical argenhot behaviour.

Lovely feeling, this lovesick thing, right?