Can I Handle Romance?

So, Mr. Italy sent me a very sweet (if poorly written) love letter today.  It was full of promises of affection, tenderness, and romance.

And it kinda weirded me out.

I’m sure it was mainly because I hardly know him.  I mean, we’ve chatted probably for a few hours, cumulative.  We’ve never met.  Yet here he is, talking of how wonderful our first meeting will be, of raising our children together, of growing old together, and all sorts of other pretty thoughts.

Whoa!  Slow down, Big Boy!

He’s going to China on Tuesday.  Any bets that he somehow loses all his money and needs me to wire him some so he can get home so we can meet?

And that’s how I’m trained to think.  Whether it’s true or not, that’s where my mind instantly goes.

Actually, I mentioned that (the part about him hardly knowing me, yet sending the letter) to him.  He said that his culture is different from mine – that he was raised to be romantic and affectionate.

Huh.

I don’t think I’d even know what to do with that.  I mean, a guy who is romantic?  My stalker’s idea of romance was setting the table with plasticwear on Valentine’s Day.  When I was married, my husband’s idea of romance was … Can’t even think of any times he put any effort into it, now that I think of it.

How would I respond to romance?  Would I wonder what was wanted in return?  Would I scoff?  Reject it?  Would I know how to return it?  Do I know how to be romantic?

Such an odd concept.

And then I go back to – well, he’s just a scammer anyway, so I won’t ever have to worry about it.  The only time a man puts any effort into being romantic is when he wants something, right?  Whether it’s the number to my bank account or to satisfy his own urges, there’s always a reason behind it, right?

I mean – no man is romantic just for the sake of being romantic, right?

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