How to Marry a Third-World Woman And Live Happily Every After--Somewhere Else

Some years ago, encouraged by readers, I decided to write a book with the above title, and then decided I'd rather do other things, like drink red wine and sit with Vi on the roof-top patio and supervise the sunset. I mean, what if it didn't do it right? So I didn't finish the book. But I had knocked out a few chapters, and now I figure I'll post them occasionally when I can't think of anything else.


Chapter One

Why would a man deliberately set out to marry a woman in the Third World—or, if you prefer, the “developing world”? For any of several reasons, which men talk about in private but not when they might be overheard:

(1) North American women (say these men) have been so corrupted by angry feminism that they have the appeal of a menopausing crocodile with the hives. Yes, there are gradations, and many exceptions, but you don’t find out whether she is an exception until, if she isn’t, it is too late. And yes, the men having these views often have had bad experiences, and remain angry. Nonetheless they tend to have similar opinions:  The average American woman these days is charming as a hung-over ferret but less useful (ferrets kill mice).  We all know the signs. There are the frequent complaints about sexism, discrimination, machismo, the throwaway snotty remarks about the male ego, immaturity, and fear of commitment (they have the last one right, God knows). You get the feeling that too many gringas are coiled like rattlesnakes, looking for slights about which to be enraged. Together these constitute what I think of as “the chip.”

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