Once upon a time, an Arabic family was scared I was going to use my feminine wiles to steal their son right from underneath their noses. Scared because I was the daughter of divorce, and well…you know what that means. After this gent and I met, and clearly hit it off, his mother took it upon her self to call my family at the crack of dawn the next morning and tell us that they had the perfect man for me. He was the son of divorced parents. We’d have a lot to talk about.

Once upon a time, a lovely Arabic man professed his care for me. He was a few years younger and he was wonderful (still is). When he told his family he wanted to marry me, his mother and sister — then someone I considered among my dearest friends — told him I was too strong for him and too old. So his sister contacted me a few weeks later to tell me she had the perfect man for me. He was approximately 20 years my senior. She remains blocked on Face book, her and her laughably pathetic and backward ways.

Once upon a time, an Arabic fella aged 28 to my then 30, asked me if I had ever been in love. Because he hadn’t. Because that was a sin. His follow up question was: Have I ever kissed a boy. With tongue. (Are you screaming? Because I still am.)

Once upon a time, an Arabic man aged 34 asked me if I was a virgin. Because he was. Even though he had never been single. And I really can’t wait to play Blind Leading The Blind.

Once upon a time, an Arabic dude put in an order for a beautiful woman, with a higher education and good morals. He was sent my way to tell me that he wanted me to marry him so that we could move to Saudi where I would then take care of his ailing parents, hang my diploma and “just be smart” while having “smart babies.” Also, I’d have time to maintain my looks, Thanks God.

Once upon a time, right after Uni, an Arabic Muslim fella formerly married to a Christian American fem asked me if I had ever had a teenie tiny smallest sip of alcohol. When I told him I had, he shook his head, huffed and puffed and said “we’ll talk about that later!”

HA HA HA HA!!!!!

Once upon a time, an Arabic fella with whom I was coffee-ing for the first time, showed up 30 minutes late because he was too busy “gaming” and his right hand hurt. When I refused to see him a second time, he had his momma call my momma to ask me out on a date. Also, to tell my momma that he wanted to live in his room, in his parents house, with me.

Once upon a time, an Arabic fella asked me if I was comfortable in the same room as men. When I said “uhm. Yes?!” he said “I seeeeee,” DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUN!!

Once upon a time, a Sheikh from Montreal called me because he was told I would be a good match. I don’t know, either, dear reader. But he was pretty much letting it rip in Arabic and I was terrified and he kept calling back while I would hang up and ask him to please not call again and then my mother finally came home to find me in tears. Way to be pious, brother.

Once upon a time, a man asked me if I stuffed (“bti7shi?” in Arabic). When I asked “whaaaaaat?” he responded with “like, grape leaves, and carrots, and eggplant?”

Once upon a time, a boy was after me for years, but I didn’t much like him, because al-ma7abba is from Allah. When I finally accepted to go out for that one coffee, against my own sense of taste and comfort, he decided to clarify — for my benefit so that I would not be hurt — that he was “just browsing.”

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Once upon a time, there was a single girl who never shared her stories, instead burying them deep inside because she always wondered what was it about her that made her single. Until she realized that it wasn’t her, but rather Allah getting rid of all of the riff raff to make more room for the right bloke. InshAllah.

ALEX O’LOUGHLIN!! CALL ME!!

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Photo courtesy of CORBIS.

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