I have never been a big fan of rugby. First off, I don't understand the rules. There doesn't seem to be any logic to how the game is played, and despite the occasional break through of a few players most of the time both teams just end-up in a pile of bodies. Supposedly a man man's sport, I get the feeling it is just an excuse for men to wrestle like they were young boys again.
I arrived in my new city of Dublin the same weekend of the Rugby World Cup, which was being played in Paris, the city I had just moved from. Although I could careless who won, I appreciated the irony in the juxtaposition of the two cities. As a fan of sporting events in general, I knew I would enjoy the buzz around the pubs during matches since both France and Ireland were big contenders in the event.
My first weekend in Ireland an Irishman, whom I had met through aSmall World--an invitation-only social network, offered to show me around Dublin. I eagerly accepted Mr. Irish Lad's offer, excited to see Dublin and break-in to its night life. Of course I was slightly nervous to meet him outside the DART station because unlike myself, his personal profile was not accompanied by a photo and the only description he gave me was "I am kind of tall with blondish hair."
Although he was no Brad Pitt he was certainly cute and as we walked the grounds of Trinity College we chatted easily. A lawyer who had grown-up in Dublin proper, Mr. Irish Lad had spent two college summers in the Hamptons teaching tennis. Our first stop of the night was a packed pub to watch the second half of the rugby match and followed by Ireland's win, we found our way to Cocoon, a lounge bar in the center of town.
While our conversations moved from one topic to the next, I remember my amusement when his mention of how much he enjoyed watching Sex and the City. This lead to an inevitable conversation about dating in our respective countries and our conclusion was that dating in the U.S. and Ireland was similar, which was interesting because I am not sure if he had even dated an American before. As I have never seriously dated an Irishman, I wondered to myself if this was an accurate conclusion.
From Cocoon, he suggested we go somewhere else although that somewhere was not specified. I took his lead and after about five minutes it seemed like we were walking away from the area where most bars were. My instincts were correct: he suggested that we go to his place where he had some wine; in fact, it was the direction we were heading in. I agreed, somewhat baffled by this new twist to the night. We had barely had a flirtatious moment and while I found him nice, I wasn't sure if I was even attracted to him.
Two glasses of wine later, sitting on a leather couch in a very barren room, Mr. Irish Lad began to kiss me. Again, I wasn't sure what to think but the kissing was enjoyable... and I was slightly drunk. But that is where I took over the lead, and lead myself home shortly afterwards, despite his requests that I follow him into his bedroom.
A week went by without hearing from him, which I thought was kind of odd but to be perfectly honest only slightly bothered me. Who was this guy really?
The following Saturday I went to Fresh, a supermarket, with a friend. We immediately bee-lined it to pastry section when a cute guy walked up and mentioned that the muffins across the street were much better... I was so enthralled with the muffins that I barely noticed as my friend poked me in the side, mumbling "talk to him!"
Walking towards the meat section that is when I noticed him: Mr. Irish Lad. Although I wasn't quite sure if it was him or not, so I grabbed my friend and pointed him out. I spent the rest of the time in the store, sneaking around trying to get a better look. Funnily enough, Mr. Irish Lad kept walking in which ever direction I was headed in. I tried to keep my cool, certain it was him now. After I had seen him walk from the front of the store all the way to the back where I was standing, I found him standing within a few inches of me but he didn't say a word.
I had to keep myself from bursting out laughing at the immaturity of the situation. He obviously was ignoring me although he was following me around and I was too proud to speak first since he never bothered to call me after we went out. I had an ego to protect!
He finally, made his way out of the store without saying anything to me even though I was positive he had noticed me. After my friend and I paid for our groceries, I decided that I would text him to find out if it had actually been him.
Me: "Did I just see you in Fresh? Small World!"
Mr. Irish Lad: "You did, that's funny. Hope you're well."
I couldn't believe he had admitted it without even one single explanation or apology for his behavior! But I couldn't resists, pushing further I sent another text:
"And you didn't bother to say hi? I wasn't sure it was you! I am doing fabulously, and you?"
To which he responded,
"Good to hear, doing some work now, enjoy the sunshine."
Once again I was baffled at his behavior. First he admits he saw me but again won't offer any explanation. Perhaps I could have been mature enough to turn to him when I had the chance and say hello but if he had text me like I had, I might have at least lied or claimed "wow, that was you! I wasn't sure and didn't want to make a jerk of myself by approaching some stranger." But he acted unapologetic and yet cowardly at the same time about his behavior.
I think what bothers me about the whole situation is how strange it all is. There was no obvious reason for his behavior and really no excuse. Even though I wouldn't have sex with him that night we met didn't mean I wouldn't have been interested in it later. And when I left his apartment that night out there didn't seem to be any uneasiness when we said goodbye.
But perhaps this is how it works in Ireland. If you don't put out the first night, they don't want to see you again? Certainly different from the French approach-- at least they would have settled in for the chase a bit and if they didn't want to, they would certainly let you know. Yet, what is most mystifying--what if this is how Irish people date?
In my experience, most of the men who disappointed me, never blatantly disrespected me. Not to say some of them were not weak, taking the easy way out, at least they had the audacity to lie or stretch the truth. Of course, I often complain that my current fling hasn't called or wants something different than, me and I wish that he would just be honest and up front with me. But from this last experience, Mr. Irish Lad's method was much more deliberate--methodical even. No wonder Joyce, Beckett, Wilde, and others got out of Ireland as fast as they could and yet spent years obsessing about it. And while I am not Irish, just my name is, I am beginning to wonder if Molly Bloom wasn't completely misunderstood.
But like all new places there is the inevitable culture shock and this certainly translates to the dating scene. There will always be those nuances that you have to learn and accept-- whether you like it or not. At least I had the satisfaction of watching France beat Ireland 25-3. There is nothing like a pile of Frenchmen on top of a pile of Irish ones to make you smile.
