“But I don’t feel the sparks”, she said. “That will come later once we start making out”, I replied. Or more like that is what I wanted to reply, but the wannabe-dignified, in-reality-ball-less me held my tongue and just strolled along in rejection, knowing I had pretty much talked the past 3 hours into the friendzone. What was I thinking? Here was a woman from back home who had tasted the holy grail, the white man, one of the best of the human specimen in all his glory. And once you drank wine, there was no way you were going back to chocolate milk (#subtlereferencetomyself). With the number of suitable candidates in close proximity reducing by a drastic 100%, it was time to put out the ad again. “Lonely and poor student, seeking warmth, security and comfort in the cuddle of a stunning, Snow-White-like Fraulein, if not, worse case, remotely better than average-looking woman, so my mother will not marry me off to a woman whom I barely know and all my relatives won