The Bride of Leninstein

I'm single. I'm not so sure I like it, but it does have some benefits. I won't try to cover them all here because most single people know what they are. Many of us have tried online dating, and if you're like me, you find it frustrating and fruitless most of the time. One of the unfortunate side effects of having an online profile on a dating site is that you're vulnerable to approaches from people from virtually anywhere. From any planet, some might argue - but I digress.

I quite frequently receive emails from women in Russia. Most of them are young, absolutely beautiful and begging for me to whisk them away to a life of happiness and security. I'm flattered. For about 2 seconds. There is no valid reason on this good earth that a lithe, sexy young woman would want to marry someone like me, a man who is 20 to 30 years her senior.

Unless...

You see, it costs a lot of Rubles to travel from Russia to North America, the land of Milk and Money. These women have very little, and when you compare their lives to ours, we live in virtual luxury. You can't blame them for trying to better themselves. All I would have to do is fork out the cash and go through several years of legal stuff to bring my future bride over here, and we would live in happiness until death do us part. What an attractive concept. I'd love to have a gorgeous young woman to parade around town.

"Look what I bought!"

Reality is a bitch in heat, and my common sense kicked in like the passing gear on a Corvette. These women don't want me. They don't want to spend their lives with me. They want a meal ticket, and I'm a four course meal to them. What are the chances that the lovely blonde 25 year-old is actually a 40 year-old transvestite using a substitute photo? What if this beauty who finds me so appealing is a Vodka-swilling criminal on the lam from the authorities? These are things that need to be considered. Besides, what if I jumped through all the legal and financial hoops only to find that my bride-to-be is some swarthy, hairy, one-eyebrowed neanderthal-looking Mesomorph? What then?

What's in it for me?

Well, I'd have the dubious privilege of shelling out thousands of dollars to help a stranger relocate. If I was really lucky, I might get laid once or twice out of sympathy or guilt, but the outcome would be inevitable. My bank account would be thinner, my self-esteem would be lower, and I'd have used up all my Viagra on some flaky bimbo who used me like a Kleenex. I can get that at home. It's cheaper.