Ass-Play, Italians, and Your Junior Year Abroad

Dear Dategirl,Are you ever going to write about your own scandalous behavior? Because otherwise you come off as a bitch pretending to be a feminist. Your tone of "Girls should get everything they want and never compromise, and boys are the devil" seems a bit like Puritan rage.I lived in Rome my junior year of college. The people there married and sometimes conducted affairs. How amazing that these intelligent, educated women didn't think the men were scumbags; accepted that life doesn't always go as planned; and got themselves some boytoys of their own.Please know there is a larger world out there with more mature forms of love and acceptance that can look past the occasional slap-and-tickle on the side. You come across as provincial and spoiled. The reason men cheat is because we are wired to do so. And you are wired to be angry about it because it's a threat to your offspring's source of provision. It's all nature, nothing more.—Worldly Ninja

Ah, yes, the valuable life lessons gleaned during junior year abroad. A time when well-off American children journey to lands far from home to soak up cultures other than their own. While overseas, some of these kids will learn a new language. Others will soak in a different perspective on world history, or perhaps do nothing more than enjoy a delicious new cuisine.While many of your classmates returned to our shores with an increased knowledge of art history, the global economy, or maybe even hot Italian amore, you came home with the knowledge that many of Rome's male inhabitants enjoy extramarital affairs, which their wives cheerfully condone.I'm sure your parents are bursting with pride that you put their Euros to such good use. Italian men are cheaters! What about the French and their wacky berets? Or the Germans and their precision engineering? Who needs nuance or understanding when stereotypes and clichés are so readily available?I'm guessing you're the guy who turns a simple pizza outing into an hour-long monologue on how amazing the boar's-cheek ravioli tasted at this out-of-the-way grotto in the shadow of the Coliseum. Your friends couldn't possibly know from authentico Italian fare as they spent their junior years in Spokane or somewhere similarly uncultured. After assuring everyone of your superiority, you'll suffer and choke down the pedestrian Americanized fare offered while your buddies wonder when their formerly cool friend turned into such an insufferable jerk.So true that a sad-sack provincial lady like me—someone who had to work full-time to put herself through college and didn't have a daddy willing or able to finance an extended overseas vacation—would not be as cosmopolitan as you. Sarcasm aside, you do have a semi-point: When I write about infidelity, I am admittedly a tad judgmental. It's not the fucking around I object to, it's the lying and deceit that come with it. I have no issue with having as many sex partners as you want, but if you sign on for a monogamous relationship, you should honor your agreement. If you're wired to stick your dick into a bunch of different women, why marry one? Or why marry one who wants a monogamous relationship? There are plenty of polyamorous couples who lead perfectly happy lives.Also, after nearly 10 years of writing this column, nobody wants to read about my scandalous exploits. For one thing, I think I've covered nearly all of them. And for the past five years, I've been a boring, shacked-up, nearly married lady. But let me assure you—if my boyfriend decides to exercise his Greek side (them Athenians and their ass-play!), you'll be the first to

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