European Men

My girlfriends commonly request information about European men (I imagine they want to live vicariously through me), so I'd be remiss if I didn't mention upfront that I believe this post will whet their appetites. (Really, this post is rather long, so I promise to please, if not at least shock.)

My living situation in Brussels is this: I am the temporary flatmate of a 6'5, brownish-blonde-haired Scottish 28 y/o with an English accent. For the purposes of this post, and at his request, I'll call him Mr. Walters.

Mr. Walters and I met for the first time on Sunday, June 27. When I returned home the following evening, Mr. Walters informed me that his friend from the UK had rang and asked if he (ID: Harry) and a friend (ID: William) could stay at our flat. Mr. Walters had agreed, and he ensured me that the three would be respectful and stay out of my way.

That evening - or should I say morning? - however, a different story unfolded.

Let me pause for a moment and describe my "neglige" for the evening, and that matters a bit, if you're going to put yourself into my shoes over the next few paragraphs: I hopped into bed a black scoop-neck long tank and a pair of grey running crops. I also wore a bra, given that I hadn't been sleeping through the nights lately and thought there would be increased chance that I'd run into the guys elsewhere in the flat.

Anyway, Mr. Walters and his friend strolled in at approximately 4 a.m. Tuesday morning. I woke up to the sounds of hushed-whispering in the hallways, discussing the impossibility of finding the bathroom through the dark hallways, as well as someone's desire to "[Verb omitted purposely] Mr. Walters' Mom.," among other niceities. The voices disappeared shortly thereafter, and I nodded to sleeep, knowing that they were in the common area of the flat.

Or so I thought, until what seemly appeared only moments later, follows:

[BAM. BAM. CREAK.] My door opens, and a belligerant William stumbles in.

He asks me if I am awake. I'm not really. He wobbles a few steps forward, half-turns, sits on my bed and begins to explain how in the UK it would be rude of him and the others not to invite me for a drink if I am awake. I sit up on my elbow, (a sore attempt to discourage him from laying down) and he croons at me "laying so in my night clothing."

[Enter Mr. Walters.] He clearly expected that William would put himself into this position, sitting comfortably at my stomach-level, wavering slightly, attempting to figure out a way to spend the night here, and so he jokes a bit and asks if I'd want to sleep in another room. He also wonders if it would be a bore to leave William there. [I don't respond, but the answer clearly is yes.]

Mr. Walters spends a few great moments attempting to distract William out of my bed, then speaking sense into William, but to no avail, as William now stretches into my bed, full-body length next to mine. A few additional "gentle" and physical attempts to lift William out of my bed later, Mr. Walters finally given him a hard tug.

The tug, unfortunately, rips William out of my bed, into the wall in the hall outside my room, and onto the floor of the hall just beyond. William doesn't like this one bit, and he lunges at Mr. Walters, pushing him backwards, back into my room, onto my bed, half-onto me, and [CrackPlop.] All of a sudden - as if in slow motion - I fall backwards, spilling my water, Mr. Walters falls into and my bed breaks.

No, really.

This infuriates me, and Mr. Walters insists that William leaves the flat immediately. This generates quite a stir, because all of a sudden, not only is Harry there and flaming mad, a third unknown man also appears in my room.

I retreat to the kitchen - I mean - there are four guys in my flat fighting and yelling because one of them tried to get it on in my bed, with me. AWKWARD.

I let the guys battle it out for a bit before I decide to get involved - the short of it is that I am not comfortable with William staying in the flat after his advance and then his violence (which, if I can remind you, wound up in my bed being broken!). Mr. Walters takes my side, and the third guy escorts William outta here.

I end up sleeping in the room next to my original room (and currently am still sleeping there), while Mr. Walters orders the replacement parts for my broken pieces. And that's the end of that.

So, what do I think about European men? At first glance and experience, while their potential blood lines and language abilities may make them appear strikingly handsome at first, there is much to be said about differentiating their behaviour from that of those devilshly handsome American men we attempt to love.