Mr Iran

I really want to leave the world with a legacy. As I am getting older, I am realising this dream is no easy venture. Recently I have have come up with a plan that may aid this objective: diversify the gene pool by creating a new exotic race. I am thinking Brazilian, Scandinavian and Iranian nutribullet-ed . The result of this would hopefully be the perfect offspring that would have jet black hair and deep blue eyes. The recessive blue alleles will screw my noble endeavour but I like a challenge. I have started taking this mixing business seriously and this why Mr Iran was doomed for failure from the start.

Mr Iran was funny (in the upfront Iranian manner that I am used to), rude and very much nouveau riche. To put this into context for you, he drove around 50 mph in a 30 mph zone blazing Drake in his private-plated Aston Martin. He addressed annoyance from reasonable drivers with an eruption of ego: ‘what’s your issue mate? You have problems’. Because of who he was, I treated him like a door mat and trust me when I say that he was covered in dog shit by the time I was finished with him. I feel like a humanitarian who is on a mission to clear the streets of turd bags like him. It’s a truly a humbling experience. People often ask why I date these people & my response is that I don’t date just to find that perefect someone. I don’t always push out abhorrent guys for the following reasons:

  1. 1) the restaurants – they have chosen a restaurant on my ‘need to go’ list. As a bon viveur I can’t bring myself not to go if I have little to do on that week. I never offer to pay half the bill on these dates. I just eat and leave in a hurry. In reality this category serves as a tax on rude men. However, these dates don’t occur often as my dating schedule has become very busy as I have got into a healthy routine that has meant I haven’t bought groceries in a month! I am playing the numbers game now and trying to find the most blog worthy guys in London. Sometimes, I go on two a day- lunch and dinner, which explains why I have started to feel sick of eating out.

2) Clearing the streets up of the scumbags by ruining their confidence and manhood one-by-one.

Mr Iran was definitely a mixed breed one and two. When we met, he said he was a ‘foodie’ and his favourite restaurant was Nobu. I sighed internally. I don’t usually judge people’s choice of restaurant unless they declare to be a ‘foodie’. Nobu was like the McDonald’s of mid-high end restaurants, with its ubiquitous presence and very little focus on novel culinary experiences. It was the kind of place Plain Jane’s boyfriend finds through website optimisation when he Googles ‘sushi Mayfair’ and reserves it as a surprise on their anniversary. They leave a great review on trip adviser, as they think it will enhance their sense of belonging to these types of poncey venues if they pretend to like it. They then head home pleased that they have paid an astronomical price for sushi and he gets the best god damn missionary sex of the year. It’s endearing really. It’s like watching the black sheep approach the habitat of a black panther with a white flag asking for a hug. I can just hear David Attenborough in my head ‘the sheep lays lifeless…’. It’s the survival of the fittest in action in the 21st century.

I was meeting with a friend that night. I was fairly drunk and wanted to play the ‘how far can I push it’ game. It’s one of my favourites. It basically starts off with me making an outrageous request and demanding that it be met now. As a kid, I was raised by my grandparents & they were awfully strict so I could never throw a tantrum and get what I want. This totally makes up for this tantrum chip I have on my shoulders.
I scrolled through my messages: Mr Iran, Mr Brazil, Mr England, Mr Ireland and Mr Thailand. None excited me much at all, but Mr Iran was online now. I have come to realise, I love guys that are sufficiently unavailable but generally gentlemen otherwise. It’s a tight rope to walk to balance those traits. I have a handful of these guys but as the name suggests they are unavailable. If you are thinking I probably have deep psychological issues then I am inclined to agree.
I invited Mr Iran to come to meet me while I was out with my friend. It was 11:30pm, midweek and Mr Iran was at least one hour away. No respectable man should give into that request, but guess what? He did. It took him 2 hours to arrive! He arrived and got us a round of G&T. We sat drinking and he looked at my over-the-ear headphones that I adore. He commented that it didn’t look feminine. I wanted to stick my middle finger up and tell him to ‘sit on it’. However, I was a lady so I refrained.
My personal possessions are chosen with great care, as every single item represents me in some way. It took me two months of research to buy the Bose 35 headphones. The noise cancelling is insanely good on these headphones. I wear them everyday, with heels and a killer dress. People do look as it’s an odd pairing but in my noise cancelled world, I can’t hear their looks. I am surrounded by greatness: me! Ahh! Yes, this is self-admiration to the highest levels and it’s euphoric. The headphones have become my mental asylum, but thank goodness for the two year warranty as I I have already stood on them. I really don’t deserve nice things as I generally tend to ruin them.
I am unwilling to change my dress sense, extroverted personality, religion and appearance for a guy. A naive and inexperienced Lady K has tried to change every single one of aspects before for insufficient men, but it has only ended in severe rebellion followed by a supernova explosion. When I did change though I realised I had lost my sense of muchness (quote from my favourite movie).I had just become like everyone else and I hated it. My friends even hated it, as I am loved for my madness. Second quote: ‘… you’re mad. Bonkers. Off your head but I’ll tell you a secret… all of the best people are.’ My narcissistic tendencies combined with my desire not to change myself fundamentally can be a lethal mix. However, on a daily basis I recognise I am not perfect and I embrace a burning desire to want to reach the impossible: perfection. I always try to take on criticism and use it to improve. I see it as a process that refines me, in the same way I see lifting heavier weights put me on the road to the black girl ass I deserve.
We finished drinks and I was tired. Mr Iran said he said he would drop us off and we were walking to his car with my friend. I told him we needed to drop my friend off as she was drunk, so he agreed then 10 minutes later he disagreed as it was ‘too far away’. I just had it with this guy; he was not man. Without looking in his direction, I took a wad of toilet paper (quilted and scented, as my ass deserves the best) and told him to ‘get out of my face’. It was a clean wipe. He stopped and was baffled. I walked off and left him in the middle of the street checking my excellent Gluteus Maximus walk away from him. He was just another guy that now had to admire it from the sideline.
Criteria Score

Offered to pay the bill Yes

Insisted on paying the bill Yes

Politeness 0.5/5

Ambitious 5/5

Looks 2/5

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One thought on “Mr Iran

  1. Wow. I love the funny way you describe all these men. I feel like mixed kids are the cutest but make sure you don’t marry him for his genes. someone once told me you’re children need you to protect them twice. The first way to protect them is by selecting a good father/mother for them because they impact who that child becomes.

    Like

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