THU: 12º/5º FRI: 15º/3º
Dating the Danes | True nature? (the Aussie's view)
After my friend’s disastrous date resulted in me meeting Mr Normal, a seemingly normal and great guy, I thought I had finally hooked myself a good one. Yet as always, things weren’t as they first appeared.
Now whilst this guy didn’t turn out to be a weirdo or a pervert, he did turn out to epitomise what it means to be a Dane.
When we’d last left off, I was enjoying a few drinks with Normal. As that night progressed, I found myself thinking that he really was a nice guy, and when it came time to say goodbye, we enjoyed a steamy session of kissing in a bank doorway.
After that, numbers were exchanged, and the promise of more kissing to come seemed quite certain. As I walked home, I wasn’t 100 percent sure that he’d call again, but I thought to myself that Danish men, and indeed Danes in general, seemed more reliable than Aussies, so maybe I had a good chance.
After the mandatory couple of days had passed, there came the text: “Would you like to meet for coffee?” Eager to see whether I’d had my beer goggles on that night, I swiftly texted back yes and we agreed to meet at a coffee bar later that week.
My last Danish coffee date had left me with quite a sour taste in my mouth, but as I hurried along to meet Normal, I tried to calm my nerves. From memory he was great looking, a good kisser and seemingly nothing like the last guy.
As I approached the place, I thought of how great it was to have met an outgoing, affectionate and funny Danish man, yet as I greeted my date I was instantly thrown off my game. Sure, he was as good looking as I’d remembered, but he was acting as if we were on a job interview.
A lot of people had told me that when Danish people drink they become your best friend, and then the next day it’s like you don’t even exist. Whilst I’d never really thought about whether this was true or not, I now know it most definitely is.
As we sat drinking our coffees, or in his case a Hyldeblomst, I couldn’t help but think to myself that I probably had a closer relationship with my elderly Danish neighbour who once suspiciously nodded at me.
For the next couple of hours, I sat there and wondered how a man who I had exchanged saliva with could be so cold and distant towards me. Now don’t get me wrong, he was perfectly pleasant, but all of the trademarks that had made me interested in him seemed to have evaporated along with his blood alcohol level.
As we said goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed with his apparent lack of interest in me. As I watched him turn to walk away, the Aussie in me thought stuff it, I’ve nothing to lose, and with that I called out: ‘Are you going to kiss me or not?” ...