Photo by Okinawa Soba
Tigers don’t care much for humor.
To be fair, most animals can’t really laugh; but if tigers could let out the occasional chuckle, it would probably fall somewhere in between a hiccup and a dying gazelle. I make that kind of sound as well, mostly when flawless Chinese women ask if I’d like an escort back home, and leave the option of post-coital marriage entirely on the table.
‘Home, now?’
‘Oh, sorry what? No, no; not tonight.’
‘You don’t like me? I can be better.’
Of all the illnesses that could befall a foreigner in China, lack of communication with the libido has to be the most frustrating.
‘Libido,’ said I, ‘did you just tell that pretty lady to leave without us?’
It was upon me; destroyer of worlds, bane of men, the force behind a woman’s chuckle, and Viagra’s entire marketing angle. I’d seen this in movies; none of them ended well.
Sometime during my stay in China, I’d been ruined. Whether it was the immense availability of the women, or the total disregard for their opinion inevitably brought on by our inability to communicate all but very basic ideas in English, I couldn’t say.
I was loss, I was despair; I was running to the hospital like a mad man with terminal cooties. A few nights and a dozen blood tests later I had worked my way through half a Chinese medical encyclopedia and a bottle of scotch but, alas, even the sweating dancers in my local club could stir nothing but my newfound stomach ulcer.
‘You don’t know China,’ advised my friend and interpreter. ‘The best medicines are secret; but I think you cannot eat.’
I’d endured duck heads, pig paws and tomato-dipped chicken feet (by God I said feet, not legs!); I was ready for whatever China could throw at me.
‘Why couldn’t I eat it?’
‘These problems,’ he continued, ‘need special medicine; need rare tiger penis.’
Bring it on! Well no wait, let’s window-shop first.
Selling parts of a tiger is illegal, and that translates to a 9 thousand dollar price tag on a complete organ; but of course a small (and ornately phallic) bottle of juice will only set you back about a hundred; a mere nothing for a dire need.
That night I ended up in a club, and another half a bottle of scotch had given me just enough courage to try the elixir; I opened the vial, took a deep breath and prepared for death.
‘You’re not really going to drink that are you?’
She was tall, beautiful and Dutch; but it was her grammar that took my breath away.
‘I’m sorry, can you say that again; or anything else for that matter, in your perfect English?’
‘How about, drop that vile looking bottle and buy me a drink?’
Be still, my beating heart.
Big Pharmaceutical dropped by 2 points, man-kind sighed and jungle-cats everywhere rejoiced. They say beauty is from within, and seeing how I almost drank down tiger mojo I’m now inclined to agree; charm, wit and great communication skills is where it all is.
But I guess it doesn’t hurt if you’re Dutch.
You You You are getting married!! Mabrouk 
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