I’ve heard the question so many times along the years: “How old are you?” And a comment after that I look much younger. Or occasionally, when I am not ready to say (you should never ask lady’s age!) people start guessing. Easily five years is dropped of in either case. And I’ve got few wrinkles. Some say it is blessing, but I am not always so sure.

When I was younger I used to think it as a kind of insult: “Am I not mature enough?” I was well ahead of my peers in University studies and was still asked whether I was younger. I remember one guys horrified face, when I told him that I was doing my master thesis – and his relief, when hearing of my mature age of 22. See in my country people are usually older, when they do it.

In Italy I was during one crazy afternoon I was asked by two (Italian) persons, unaware of each other, whether I was 16th or 28th. I don’t know the reasons of the other person (he was Italian guy whit whom I was playing shy to be left alone), but the lady who guessed the upper one, told it was due to my maturity. I was 23 by the way. It was one of the weirdest moments of my life, along whit the moment, when I was asked in India whether I was Indian. Can only guess what made to guys to ask that. Maybe it was my accent?!

It was annoying when I was treated as a little girl, when I was younger. They took one look on my face and decided that I must be young. When I was teaching 15-years-olds, I was asked whether I was in high school – I was 25. The older I get more nicer it feels as I have reached the age I’m not treated as a kid anymore. They don’t anymore think I’m twenty – now I’m 25.

Men don’t usually dare to ask my age (although it happens). They seem to have well learned that you may never ask woman’s age. The usually questions only come, when they got some clue, that I might not be as young as they suppose. But usually they seem to think me younger, at least I think so, as I’ve been getting younger and younger admires. They don’t even take the clue of my girl-friends, who are mostly of my own age, occasionally older.

To continue yesterdays theme: there are several rather immature things both women and men do in relationships. I don’t grant neither sex freedom of fault in this field. I don’t mean everybody are immature – I mean only that far too many of us are. (I have learned lately to include myself in this category).

I had just arrived Italy first time and had probably the first real conversation with Italian girls (we were not yet women). One of the first comments was that Italian men really never grow up. Later I have to agree whit them. Italian men are passed from “mamma” to spouse and petting continues. And “mamma” is always there as long as she lives. Yet I have met immature men – and women – among other nationalities as well. Affairs of these Italian couples seemed to me often like teenage courtship.

There is a film called “Failure to Launch” that describes men, who stay at their homes post normal age. What is normal varies from country to another. In my home country we mature early and I left home at the age of 19. Many Italians live with their families past 29 – often for the economical reasons. And you can notice it. I felt they were so young.

Yet moving out of your home is only part of maturing. I’ve met several men – and also women – who are looking for someone, who takes charge of their life. They believe it would be easier. There are men looking for “strong” women and women looking for “strong” men. I’ve known these guys and have had them as friends. Sometimes afterwards I’ve followed their marriage from further and been thinking are they so happy now. But there are girls too whose actions I don’t completely understand.

I’ve been occasionally in the situation, where I’ve been offered to be the general of a relationship.  I’ve more or less said no thanks.  Yet I’ve been looking for the muddy waters of my own motives and I have to say that I am not yet on the clear waters either. I have to admit that it would be nice if some one would stand for me in those affairs I find so difficult to handle. But this is not really what the relationship is really for.

Yet I don’t mean that relationship would require total independence or that we should not look for the support from the partner, but rather than we should not look for saviour or somebody to make decisions for us.

The Spring and sunshine wakes my hormones somehow, but I am not the only one.  I start noticing flirting men from cashier boy to the guy in train. It is spring! I always start to feel wanting to have babies about this time of the year. There seems to be little children every where (and handsome men too). Female Hormones!

It is still snowy and it is quite cold. The first birds have started to sing tough and sun has smiled momentary. I am still in the winter outfit, buttoned up and cap hiding my hair. Only thing you can see of me is basicly my face. That is what makes to attention suprising.

And also I am noticing handsome men, that in the dark winter months would just have passed fastly. Just yesterday there was this beautiful Italian guy in train (I know because he and his friends spoke Italian). I know what I’ve said about Italian guys, but they can be so charming too. He did not notice me, anyhow.

Its uncomfortable, as normally would not get interested in the random good looking guy, I pop on to in the street. I dislike being hit on in public places, like you may have noticed, if you red my comments on Italy and Men. And I know that most men you see around are probably not single and they have girlfriend or wife somewhere.

Babies don’t notice in particular if I suddenly drool on them, but unfortunately men do and either they get all kind of ideas or I feel mortified or in worst case: both. Or in the absolutely worst case: the guy next to him notices and thinks I am interested in him.

And It is all those children. It may be that I have not tough having children for whole year. Have not missed not having them and not been sorry about it, bun when spring arrives I feel it in my guts, that I should be a mother, there should be baby crowing inside me and there should be baby for me to hold.

I know that all women don’t experience these feelings. Some of my girl-friends are totally immune to Baby Fewer in general and Spring Baby Fewer in particular. I have suffered from it since I was teenager. When I was younger it was even worst. I am pretty good fighting against my instincts as I still don’t have kids. I don’t intend to get any, if I don’t find pretty damn good father for them, and that is for sure.

I newer tough myself exactly maternal type. I love children, who does not (well I know some people, but I think they are suspicious) and eventually would like to have some of my own, I suppose (not very sure), but still I just am not such homey character one thinks mum to be. And liking children does not necessary mean you wan’t your own, at least not right now. I know: don’t have that many years left, but still.

When I was in Italy I was asked do I prefer Italian or the men of my own country. My answer surprised (and partly annoyed) my Italian friends. They asked why? The answer has something to do with the fact that I am wary of people, who seem to love every one and everything from bunnies to butterflies.

[This post continues the idea of the Blonds article, so it is maybe better to read that first.]

It is believed that cool blondish women prefer dark hot men. This is living stereotype. Now stereotypes can some times be a version of the truth, but they are never the whole truth. This shy lady do prefer little more gentle men (and gentlemen as well, but Italian guys know that side much better).

What I learned in Italy was how to keep hot men in the arms length – or let us say: in ice. I learned how to behave like Italian women. Believe me it was fruitful lesson. The first taste of attention was, when Italian girls guiding me in the town noted, that men seem to consider me very beautiful. Later a Finnish male friend of mine noted that both women and men are watching us to walk by.

Most Italian men do know how to talk. They seem to learn first the necessary terms in foreign languages. I have never heard so many times the words “love” and “beautiful” than I did in that country. The part of the truth is that Italian men prefer different things than one of my own, but part of the truth is they learn early to sweet talk.

I tell you a story to illustrate this. I was going back to my home. There was a bunch of fifteen-years old boys in the street with their vespas. One of them shouted me “I love you” and I answered in Italian “Ma Io non ti amo.” (But I don’t love you) He yelled again “I need you” like he had not learned that I know Italian already. So I answered “Ma Io non ti ho bisogno.” (You may guess what it means).

Few days later I was walking in the same street at the time of afternoon Siesta, which is still regular in the Southern Italy. This slightly older guy, maybe of my own age (usually working in the barbershop near by) shouted me “I love you”. That day I was not in the mood and I just gave him annoyed look and continued on my way. He then shouted to me in Italian “Hey Blond, It was an joke” and got smile as reward. He must have heard the other exchange of words.

I understood how much I had learned, when I was with few tourist girls in Rome. They were in the mercy of these slick guys, but I had learned to handle them. When I came back to Italy it took just few days to slip back in my Italian self so the men did not bother me any more. They still paid me attention, but in more respectful way.

While I wrote this way of Italian men, I have to add that this is not the whole truth about them. There are very nice, gentle guys too, true gentlemen, who go miles to take care of you and be sweet for you. They just never push on you and that’s why foreigners usually don’t meet them. The stereotype is just one angle of the truth again.

It seems common knowledge that men (universally) prefer blonds. Blonder the hair, lighter the skin, more blue the eyes – the better, right? My experience on the issue is varied …

The definition of being blond is what varies. In Italy I was a blond, “biondo” like they say. I lived in a industrial city of about 0,5 million citizen and very few passing tourists, and about 10 blonds in total (I may slightly execrate, but not much.) Boy was I success. Even in Rome men tended to flirt me and tell me I was beautiful.

In Scandinavia I am nothing special. There I am just an average girl, whit medium blond hair, nothing special. They don’t even call me blond. You must be lighter to be called blond. Only platinum blonds are considered true blonds. And besides, because blond is so common, some men prefer brunettes, just for variety.

One Scandinavian bloke, I used to know, thought he liked brunettes. He went to live in Italy, in this city, where almost everybody had either dark brown or black hair. Do you know what happened? He started to prefer blonds, just like most of the Italian guys.

I just took a walk in one sunny spring day. I was wearing brown jeans, greenish suede jacket and flat shoes, and my hair was in a knot. I had classes and did not feel a bit sexy. It was disaster. Most men I passed that day were drooling after me. One guy’s jaw literary dropped. I did not think that was really possible, I thought you only see that in cartoons. I was wrong.

I got huge amount of compliments and it was good for spirit, but was it fun? Later on it was not. I had got tired by it already by that spring day. I can now understand, why beauties and famous people go on holding nose a bit up. You grew quickly tired of all the attention. People used to think me little rude, because I did not notice them in the street. I walk in my dreams / own toughts even usually and then even more due to cultural pressure and the amount of attention.

The title of this article is by the way a movie quote. It is from movie “How to Loose a Guy in 10 Days”. Kate Hudson says it, when she describes silly female magazine articles. My answer is, that it depends on your definition of fun. If you want attention, became pretty blond. But don’t expect to be taken seriously. And expect to get more harassment.