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Women of Taipei (city in Taiwan) are categorized into 3 classes: the Fridge, the Iron, and the Washing Machine. Pursuing them is like using electronics; if you’re not careful, you’ll get electrocuted.
Let’s get to know the Fridges first. Although their breath-taking beauty can make people trip, their coldness prevents us from nearing them. Like frost in the freezer, their perfectly pale skin tone makes people nervous. The reason is that when they were young, they’d always pick study hall over P.E., hiding indoors studying. Because of this, they are accepted into Taiwan’s First Women’s College (Taiwan’s equivalent of Harvard/Yale). After graduation, they work on their post-graduate degree in New York or California. They listen to opera, adore Dali, eat yogurt, and lower their voices when speaking. They like to be known by French names, such as Yvonne or Josephine, each of them sounding like cosmetic brand names. They only meet others in English-named restaurants and insist on drinking a particular brand of mineral water, as if carbonated refreshments are a matter of life or death. They wear black, never buy imitations, work out, and watch the Discovery Channel.
The Fridges have a severe aristocratic syndrome. They might not have an extraordinary ancestry, but their beauty, education, and high salary cause them to have ridiculously high standards. If you want to talk to them, you must be so-and-so’s son or at least know so-and-so’s son. Without an impressive family background, you better be in international business and your company must be located on East Ming Sheng Road (Equivalent to Wall Street). After you open your mouth, you need to speak fluent English and know what the heck investment banking is. If you don’t have clear speech, they’d listen to you without any emotion. If you speak with an accent, their eyes would start wandering after two sentences and tell you “Excuse me.”
The good thing about the Fridges is that their appearances parallel their personalities, unlike the Irons. The Irons can be suddenly cold or suddenly hot, and you won’t be able to draw a hint from their appearances at all. When they’re passionate, they’ll burn a hole into your shirt. If you guys don’t click, she won’t have steam regardless how long you wait. They’re not like televisions that give you a signal when they’re broken so you’d at least know where the problem is and you just have to open the cover and fix it. When the Irons are unhappy, they’d sit somberly on the side, and you wouldn’t even know where to start fixing.
If you meet an Iron at a party, she’d always say “Oh! You work at XXX, too! Do you know XXX?” after seeing your business card. During boring banquet speeches, she’d stare at you intensely from across the room while fiercely downing her curry chicken, so you don’t know whether she’s into you or she’s just curious, and when she nods, you don’t know whether she’s nodding at you or at the chicken. At KTV, she can sing Faye Wong or Celine Dion while you compliment her from the side couches. She’d send the mic your way and invite you for a duet, “Why don’t you sing?” Out of so many people, she only asks you, so you feel snug and special for a while. At the end of the gathering, you trade phone numbers, and she says, “Call me. We can go catch a movie some day.” So you really call her and leave a message on her answering machine, but she never calls back. A month or two later, you try calling again, and coincidently you finally reach her:
“Remember me?”
“You are…….”
After you remind her where you guys met, she replies, “Oh, sorry. I’m on another call right now. Can I call you back later?”
This “later” is another three months.
One night, you’re drinking a cup of good quality coffee, and suddenly someone whacks you on the back with rolled-up newspaper. You look back and she says with extreme sweetness, “How come you don’t even call me?” So, you introduce her to the friends you’re having coffee with, she exchanges phone numbers with everyone, and before she leaves she says, “Call me. We can go catch a movie some day!”
Men would most prefer to run into a Washing Machine. You live a life of crime, she’d still openly accept you. You don’t need to put in any effort, and she’d turn around your world. As your relationship progresses, Washing Machines will give you different types of surprises. Sometimes she’d stop for a moment, only to ready herself for another more passionate spin.
Washing Machines are very straightforward; they don’t play games with you. You call her to plan a date, she’d give you a clear decision: “Sorry, I’m busy,” or “No problem. Where do you want to meet?” If she’s busy, you can be sure that she’d always be busy. She wouldn’t change her mind and come to you. If she were interested, she’d immediately tell you her birthday, her zodiac sign, her family history, and even the schedule of her menstrual cycle. While eating, she likes to wipe your mouth with the napkin without a warning, and while you lower your head in embarrassment, she’d flirtatiously kick you under the table. When watching a movie, she’d tightly hold your hand during suspenseful moments and she wouldn’t let go even after you have walked onto the streets. When working, she always knows to call you when you’re drifting off to sleep, pretending to be your superior. Before going to sleep, she’d call to tell you that channel 4 is showing an old film, reminding you of all the wonderful memories that are inspired by the film, making you feel like even a Fly is lucky.
However, when clothes are heaped too high, the Washing Machine would stop as well. This time, you open the lid, the clothes are tangled in a wet bunch. You crawl out of the Washing Machine like wet clothes, and for the next three months, you’ll drip water nonstop, as if you can still smell the perfume of her detergent. You’re utterly confused; how can the passionately spinning relationship stop so completely and suddenly? Where would the dripping wet me go to find a dryer?
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