Listening to U2
This morning I woke up to a text message from a 50-year-old Moroccan midget asking for my hand in marriage. A text message. Asking for my hand. In marriage. From a 50-year-old Moroccan midget.
I had to read through it three times before I even understood what he was asking, because he had written it in Darija, phonetically spelled out using the English alphabet. Truth be told I don't understand the message word for word but the basic gist was "hi, how are you alli fine? so, important, marry me. think about it. okay sorry bye."
Um.... WHAT?
After I texted back my response ("no," in case you were curious) I got to thinking.
Fact: I am not smoking hot. I'm not saying I have one eye or a hook-hand or anything. I'm a normal-looking person. I can even look really pretty when I try hard enough. But honestly, most of the time I'm out and about in Morocco I look a few shades shittier than everyone else on the street. I'm perpetually in need of a shower, I always wear my glasses and my clothes are usually stained or torn somewhere (or both). The summer heat has helped my look immensely, because now I am wearing short-sleeve shirts more often and showing off my super-sexy watch tan.
So I'm not very attractive in Morocco. Why else could I be getting so much attention?
It can't be my personality. God knows why Andy sticks around because I spend most of my time talking to him about:
-why I hate Joss Stone, and on one occasion sending him links from google images that illustrate how heinous she is
-Admiral Ackbar
-how much it sucks wearing pants these days
The rest of the time I spend acting like a child at the Dar Chabab and getting into really emotionally-exhausting games of Speed and Egyptian War.
Seriously, the only thing attracting these men to me (when I say 'these men' I'm referring to my stalker, this-other-guy-in-my-town-that-does-nothing-but-hang-around-waiting-for-me-to-walk-by-so-he-can-hiss-at-me, a cab driver in Rabat and the midget) is the fact that I have an American passport (barely). And now I pose this question: what the hell do they expect to do in America? Buy a big house with a chicken in a pot and two cars in the garage? Magically speak English upon arrival at JFK? Sit back as all their wildest dreams come true?
I just...don't know.
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Hello Miss Moss,
ReplyDeleteI feel like I understand your pain even though I am not a woman. Many people ask me if I could get them an American woman or a green card or both. I agree with you when you say "what do they expect". It is outrageous to think that going to American will magically help their situation. I believe it will do quite the opposite. With no job, no money (or very little), no real skills, or education (for the most part) whats going to happen when the see the statue of liberty and think now what? People...I am so confused with you. I like your blog.
Matt E.
first of all - JOSS STONE IS HORRENDOUS. SHE HAS ZERO REDEEMABLE QUALITIES. not ONE! everything about her bothers me. EVERYTHING.
ReplyDeletesecond - i would now like to submit my own proposal for marriage. why should we get married? well one - see above and two - sorr about the bag. if you accept i will meet you under a wedding tree in berlin. if it's meant to be we'll pick the same one.
third - this quote from 2b1b made me laugh cuz it reminded me of ...me and thought you'd laugh.
- I should probably mention that I plan on falling in love in Ireland and not returning to the states. I think his name is going to be Patrick. He's from just outside Galway. He has a pug named O'Hoolihan. I'm pretty excited about our future together. I'm also putting a lot of eggs in this happiness basket. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do if this doesn't happen...