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He was in Rome for a few months on a very specific mission: to meet and eventually marry a nice Italian girl.I couldn’t help cringing when I heard of this plan, but I wished him luck and offered my advice, should he desire it.He is paying for it all and has never asked for a dating an italian man from me.Everything would be done via email and can be written in either English or Italian. asked me to write an article for an Italian website about my experience in Italy.In the article, I suggest that in the Italian dating arena, we poor American men are severely handicapped—even totally disqualified—by our post-feminism sensitivities and political-correctness. We open doors, engage in smart conversation, avoid sexual innuendo, and never assume that an invitation for dinner or a drink is any more than just that.But if you are after a more tactile in the eternal city, my Christmas present to you this issue is a brief guide to dating in Rome; first the bad news, then the good.For any female reader, don’t ever believe their ‘status’.
They soon discovered, not only was he seeing them both but he was also sending them identical text messages. She’s still waiting for her Italian partner of many years to propose but they have a young son together and seem very happy.
What’s worse, we don’t even realize what we’re doing wrong. Silly us, we thought that our All-American charm and goodwill leftover from World War II would instantly ingratiate us with those belle ragazze.
The truth is, we don’t have the slightest clue of what’s going on right in front of us.
Case in point: last summer I met your typical Italian-American goombah at an aperitivo on the Isola one night.
Super nice guy; friendly, well-groomed, successful career—the whole meatball.
Even if his room looks like a tornado swept through it, don't think he'll clean anything up.