Dating in Tunisia – Theory 1: The Master Manipulator

Theory 1: The Master Manipulator (When my friends turn my love life into a pilot episode of a crime series)

It always goes the same way: As soon as I mention there’s someone new in my life, my best friends activate what I call the ‘Alienation Intelligence Unit.’ They don’t know Amine. They only know what I tell them. And somehow, that’s enough for them to develop theories that fall somewhere between Netflix crime dramas, amateur psychology, and Hitchhiker-esque absurdity driven by pure improbability.

One of their favorite scenarios goes like this:

‘What if he’s a master manipulator? What if he’s building trust now just to later come up with a tragic story about a sick mother or urgent money problems? Zia lends him a large sum, the money’s gone, roll credits.’

Honestly, my friends could easily write for television.

Dating in Tunisia – When Friends Become Investigators

Here is my personal, mathematically grounded assessment:

Probability that this theory is true: about 1 to 3 percent.

For everyone who struggles with percentages, here are a few comparisons from real life:

• The probability of finding a 100-franc bill on public transportation in Switzerland is about 2 percent.
• The chance that a random street cat in Tunisia will adopt you as their new human is easily 40 percent or more.
• The probability that hot oil will splash onto your hand in exactly the same spot as last week is maybe 5 percent.
• Being struck by lightning is well under 1 percent, but it is still spiritually relevant for the comparison.

And my personal favorite: The probability that the Infinite Improbability Drive from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” will fail and temporarily turn you into a potted plant seems more realistic to me than a perfectly orchestrated Amine heist.

So yes: The Master Manipulator theory is entertaining. It gives my friends the amusing illusion of being Sherlock Holmes over coffee. But realistically? Not really.

For this theory to be true, Amine would have to possess such advanced emotional control skills that I would almost feel obliged to applaud. And even then, I’m not stupid: I never lend money in amounts that could actually harm me. In the worst case, it would be mildly annoying.