Ron couldn't take his girlfriend out until his mom deposited his disability check. They were supposed to meet at McDonald's to discuss getting married, but he couldn't go until the funds were there.
"I deposited it yesterday, dear," Mom said. "It might just take some time to clear."
Bullshit. Government checks always cleared immediately.
As someone who had never been needed, and who had always been told he could never be independent, Ron had a burning to care for someone. He was looking for someone who would look up at him with adoration, a bit like a hungry puppy.
No one had responded to his online profiles. He always said he was looking for a "nice" girl.
Ron didn't realize this, but "nice" never translated into anything good. Whenever a guy said they wanted a "nice" girl, they could mean pure, docile, or boring.
On the flip side, whenever a girl was described as "nice," it meant she was ugly, or that she had no fantastic qualities at all, and so her only asset was that she could get along with others on a fundamental level.
None of the girls visiting Ron's online dating profile cared to know his version of "nice."
Since American girls were too picky, Ron started looking for a foreign beauty he could save. Costa Rica was a beautiful country with beautiful women, and Ron's disability checks would support him here.
He met a nice girl within a couple of days. She even had a baby son. Ron loved it; they would both need him, look up to him. They baby would grow up and tell his friends how lucky he was to have a father who had adopted him so he could be a U.S. citizen.
Ron's girlfriend's name was Katalina. She had been working as a prostitute in Alajuela since graduating high school. She was going to save up, but then she had the baby.
Katalina knew Ron was not a rich man. She had dated rich Americans before, and they felt uncomfortable in a McDonald's. They didn't have the same ease around the menu options: "Oh, they have apple pie now?"
Ron had taken her to a nice restaurant once, and he'd been confused about giving up his coat, unfolding his napkin, when they presented the wine.
He was nice, he didn't hit or rape her, and he bothered to learn her baby's name. In those ways, he was the best American she'd ever dated.
She could marry him. She had a good idea of what he wanted. The best prostitutes are therapists and chameleons: They figure out what their clients need, then they become that. That's why men thought they'd fallen in love, but they'd only fallen in love with their own idea of love.
Katalina had been many ideas of love, none of them being the real her. But for American citizenship, she could fan his ego, even let him pretend to have a say in how her baby was raised. She could subtly manipulate him by asking guiding questions that would lead him to what she wanted.
It wasn't exactly a fairy tale, but it was the happiest ending either of them could hope for.
blakekathryn
izzy806
gamechangershow
areudirty
kianamaiart
prguitarman
yousharknotpass
