Dublin: To me, as an American woman in Ireland, Irishmen never grow up.
Everything with most of the men (or boys, rather) that I have met here is "for a laugh" and a "skit," which basically means that if you’re not laughing at yourself or your friends doing stupid, immature things, then you’re a right bore!
Excuse me while I try to distinguish between the twelve-year-old boy in you and the grown man you’re supposed to be.
Many encounters have confirmed my doubts about these Irish man-boys. They may look like men on the outside, but underneath it all they’re a bunch of spoiled, rotten teenagers looking for a woman to play “Mammy.”
On a recent shopping excursion, I met an Irish mother of 55 who admitted that she had "ruined" her son. You see, I can be a little nosy and I was curious as to why she was shopping in the men’s department. She didn’t appear to be on the same mission as I (searching for oversized, button-down shirts) and, unless she had a 20-something year old boy toy, the place was a bit too young and trendy for the romantic interest in her life. Anyway, this woman has raised four girls, all with very strict guidelines who have all gone on to be successes in their respective careers, and one boy, that she, in her own words let “get away with murder." (By the way, that is only an expression, he didn’t really kill anyone.)
Apparently this isn’t uncommon though - Irish mothers always being critical of their own daughters, but placing their sons on the highest of pedestals, catering to their every whim. I’m told by most Irish people, male and female, that "The Mammy" is the most important woman in every Irishman’s life and that if you dare cross her by pointing out any flaws in "her son," you’ll be soon shown the door.
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American men, on the other hand, accept responsibility for their actions, are taught by our society that you need to "step up and be a man" and it’s for that reason, I hold them in such high esteem. (American men would also never be caught dead in the tight jeans Irish boys seem to be rockin’ all over town here; however, that’s for another day.)
What’s more, I have never heard of any American man in his late twenties running to his mother with his laundry once a week or showing up late at night knowing that he was going to be fed a feast by his doting mama. And having your mother buy clothes for you? I’m not sure if we’d consider that worse than actually living with her, but either way, you can pretty much count on not getting laid for quite a while.
No, I fear if I ended up with an Irishman, I’d be expected to keep on the tradition of "molly coddling" him, not only by the man himself, but also by the Holy Mother herself.
And what about manners? These boys are so rude. American men recognize the effort women put in to getting dressed for a night out. They compliment women, not insult them.
One of the idiots that Maggie and I met the other night had the audacity to look me up and down and say, “Did you buy that?” Thinking he may have a brain in his head and appreciate the one-piece, navy-blue, silk jumpsuit that I had spent a fortune on in NYC, I smiled and answered “Yes, it’s new.” He frowned and then responded, “And were you happy with your purchase?” They all erupted into laughter. Seriously, I can take a joke but that was just mean!
American men, keep up your sense of pride and dignity with your independence and achievements, I promise I’ll be faithful to you... unless I’m proven wrong by an Irishman who wants to take me out after reading this article!