Words from the frontFor those of you with a delicate constitution, you might want to skip the following long polite rant and stick to the short version, which is:
DON"T USE THE CHANGSHA BRIDGE LOVE AGENCYAnd the rant:
Chnlove don't need to get free advice from us, when it's much simpler for us to pay to go to China and do our own detective work. I have found this to be the purpose of my visit. *a wry smile plays on my lips*
I got a call from Arlene a couple of hours ago, saying she would like me to come to the agency, speaking in an artificially chirpy voice, which makes me think a close relative or pet has just died and she wants to break the bad news. She informs me that instead of arranging with Quan for us to see a film tonight, Quan has decided after careful reflection that, after our meeting with her sister, that we have no chemistry (Me and Quan, not me and her sister, ha ha). Arlene asks if there is anything I would like to say. I assume a dignified silence for about ten minutes, which allows her to visibly squirm.
Then the grim reaper arrives AKA Mr Boss man. He is here to give me the spiel about pulling another bunch of lovely ladies from his hat to assuage my disappointment, with the added benefit that I can actually meet them first, have the chemistry, and then mortgage my house with EMFs later.
I then embark upon a charm offensive, intended to give him enough rope to hang himself. We have a reasoned discussion about how the letters were so full of love, but as soon as she saw me she was so repulsed that she forgot to give me a hug, or hold my hand, or kiss me, like she had said she would about a million times. Funny thing, this chemistry lark. I didn't state the obvious, which is that Quan wasn't writing the letters, but merely posited the idea that there might be two Quans (a la Anthony Perkins in Psycho). After much pointless digressions on the inability of the CLB agency to read the minds of their ladies and the importance of family approval in Chinese marriages (er, DUH!), I finally wormed out some stuff that amused me, even in my present state. One of the reasons why her sister didn't approve of the match was her discovery last night that I am follicly-challenged (bald). At this point I really got into fifth gear, ladies and gentlemen of the jury:
1. Let us presume that the defendant, Quan, knows the value of family approval, including her sister
2. Let us further presume that from about the 2nd EMF letter (of 51) between us, the fifty or so photos of me would have alerted Quan to the dangerous lack of hair on my head
3. Let us also assume that she, knowing of her sister's hair issues, she might have put two and two together and realized after the first letter, that our relationship was ultimately doomed, even though I was hot stuff in every other department.
At this point, the boss man starts looking for a trap door, and is feeling sad that the quietly-spoken gentleman in front of him is beyond his grasp in the scammable stakes. He asks what I think of my experience with the agency; he reads nothing into my poker face. And I have to say that his final attempt to offer some more ladies to me was half-hearted, to say the least. Poor guy. He's only trying to make a dishonest living. He leaves the scene.
Which leaves me and Arlene. She really lost herself in translation (Get it!) during our exchanges with the boss and found it hard to hold her feelings in. Guilt does that to you.
At this point I burst into tears, firstly because my heart is broken, secondly because I want Arlene to feel bad.
Anyway, chin up, I say. I have some serious solitary sightseeing to do for the rest of the week.
If you can excuse my sarcasm (it's just my broken heart talking), I really am a solid dependable all-round nice guy and if you know of any ladies in the 25 to 35 age bracket who are real and real attractive, I would be happy to hear from you and be tempted to get back on the horse, so to speak.
Thanks for reading
Alex