The dating game for the expat in Prague is one with an ever changing rule-book, and one that's getting more complicated with every season.
Long gone are the days when a flash of a Western passport and a wad of fake dollars would guarantee her gums getting around your plums, and from a broader point of view, this is probably a good thing.
Natural Selection and evolution must triumph, and it wouldn't be right for these virginal expat losers to be given a chance to breed.
One of the reasons for this change is that a few years ago, there were a lot of people looking for a way out of the Czech Republic, but as it became apparent that many of the visitors were going to hang around for a bit, it seemed more sensible to date someone who could speak their own language.
However, there is still a view that all Czech women who date non-Czech men are whores of varying exchange rates. There are certainly a lot of long-standing daughter-aged girlfriends about, and their needs seem to vary from wanting cash handouts to the much cheaper fee of a few free English lessons.
But for those currently single and on the look-out, the language barrier can be a very difficult obstacle to hurdle. Blessed with a linguistic laziness that goes far beyond the surface, your average Prague resident Anglophone is more often than not unable to count past two pivos.
Relationships without conversation are not impossible, of course, and are often preferable, but it is sometimes difficult to express your sexual appeal by the ancient art of mime alone.
Hitting the dance floor is a good medium through which to find chemistry, but again, one that can be problematic. Joining underage drinkers on the Karlovy lázně linoleum after a 7-hour drinking binge is often not entirely dignified, and definitely not something James Bond would resort to.
Salsa dancing on the other hand is a brilliant way to show off sex appeal, and one which has no place for idle chit-chat.
You know the steps? 'Course you don't.
The only people who know how to do the Latin American thang are a thongful of beautiful short skirted ladies who have little need of a pulling-aid, and a small group of mustachioed fat blokes who sing along with the trumpets between dragging on the Marlboro which hangs permanently from their lower lip.
The varied and multi-layered dating scene, where you didn't know which Martina was going to call next, and any matchbox logo was obliterated by phone numbers in different coloured inks, is slowly disappearing.
This is a pity in more respects than the obviously unemployed genitalia, as Prague is as romantic a city as you could hope to find. OK, so instead of gondolas we've got peddle boats, but for a heady backdrop to an alley way fumble, it surely can't be beat.
There are enough dodgy guys and gals handing out roses in bars and restaurants to provide the less originally minded with seduction for nights on end, and the dim glow from street lamps in Malá Strana would make Angela Merkel look appealing. There's even a passable Beverly Hills 90210 style make out point in the shape of Petřín Hill, although its doubtful that the funicular railway is a decent stand-in for a convertible Mercedes.
One theory is the affliction known in medical circles as 'being a seedy b*stard'. More and more tourists, regular visitors and wealthy expats are heading to the brothels for their little bit of satisfaction, the increasing number of night-clubs like Atlas, K-5 and the like making drive-in copulation an easy and acceptable option.
As a result, these guys don't bother chatting up a table of ladies in a bar, who will just cost them a wallet load of gin and tonics and may even say 'no' at the end of the night.
This leads to previously datable ladies deciding to shack up with the boy next door, making less totty available, which in turn forces more men to resort to pairing off with their chosen lady of the night for an hour or two down the corridor.
If it is true that dating has become endemic monogamy, which has developed into compulsive flogging-your-logamy, then something must be done. Just look at the indigenous competition for crying out load. It is a fact, and not a xenophobic opinion, even still, that most Czech men lack style.
For crying out even louder, in a recent survey, 4 out of 10 males of Czech origin were found to still be the proud owners of a mullet style hairdo!
Now every nation has their faults: the French are rude, the British are pompous, Scandinavians are weird, and Americans are a whole thesaurus of bad things. But surely we can lay some sort of challenge the almost one half of the population that is a massive 70s rock band.
As a helping hand, Planet Romance (www.planetromance.cz) is an 'international dating agency' which has more long term goals in mind. Hanka-servis it certainly isn't, but there is still a pimpish element involved in their altruistic philosophy.
A filing cabinet drawer of Czech female profiles lies missionary position beneath a drawer full of male expat divorcees, and the mission statement of the company involves matching up people of similar interests, intellect and aspiration, in the hope of a long term relationship that will increase the happiness quota world-wide.
This young business has so far seen success in a number of marriages, and plenty more happy but unhitched couples. Even the foxy owner is seeing one of the clients, and almost definitely didn't pay her registration fee.
Ladies' nights at various venues tried to assist as well, but appear mostly to have been discontinued, due to a poor ratio of desperate women to dribbling men. This is of course the very heart of the problem and nothing will improve until a balance between these two groups is obtained. So ladies. Get needy, and help keep the dating tradition alive.
(The reason I know all of the above, is through over-heard conversations and from lame-duck acquaintances begging me for advice. I am, you understand, quite the catch, and get laid most hours of the day and night. However, I am always keen to broaden my horizons and fatten my little black book, and if you would like to make my life even busier, and my mattress even tireder, contact me , and we'll see if I can't bring a little sunshine to your nun-like existence. Call me, the operator is waiting.)