If ever there was a title to a blog entry that was going to bring in traffic from search engines, this is the one. I have received requests from readers to write upon this subject and now I have decided that IT IS TIME. I write this with some reticence, however, because no statement on this matter could ever be considered final.
What do I know about this subject? You may think that as a certain type of man, I am bound to have met only one type of Norwegian woman. Not so. I am many types in one, and have encountered many kinds of females. Based on the company I keep, it is as often asked “Why isn’t Barry happily married living in the suburbs with 2.4 children?” as “Why isn’t Barry lying justifiably murdered in a ditch?”
I am sure that if I was gay, what follows would be a tedious article about clothes and deportment. Instead, you are about to read the straight foreign man’s guide to Norwegian ladies, with all the important facts you need to know!
This penetrating insight takes the form of three detailed character studies. These are all friends of mine who have agreed with pleasure to be photographed.
Case study #1, the valkyrie with the plait, is pictured above. She may seem a little sultry, but this is only because of society. She has a deep love for the natural world. She comes from somewhere I can’t spell. She loves long, lonely walks in the mountains, and solitary contemplative hours by remote lakes in the depths of isolated forests. She doesn’t mind people, conversation, things that move etc. as long as she is exposed to them but sparingly, and in an organized, planned way. She is particularly fond of Easter time, when traditionally Norwegians get out of the cities to live in cabins, taking in the fresh air and lazing around like their ancestors. Easter is also her pet hate, because that’s when everyone is in the remote countryside at exactly the same time, and it’s like downtown Manhattan on a Friday night.
Here we have case study #2, a somewhat buxom lady with a left eye of contrived mystery. After cancelling three photographic appointments, I eventually managed to get her in front of a lens to capture her joi de vivre. She comes from Oslo’s fashionable west side, is a keen skier, drinks long island ice teas, frequents night-spots on Karl Johan, and although she doesn’t come right out and say it, she thinks that Crown Princess Mette-Marit is “riff raff.”
Case #3 here, a waif who doesn’t like to show her hands, and wouldn’t tell you where she comes from if you asked, enjoys dating men who wear carefully torn combats. She is rather fond of shotguns, hunting knives, Wagnerian black metal, betraying no emotion etc. She dislikes Nemi, who is “a weakling.”
Next week: complaints from female readers.