After considering a variety of profitable crimes, we decided on a male prostitution ring, with the idea that our workers could do internal projects on slow nights. But our male escorts would not provide sex: that was too easy to get in Denmark.

Instead, they would offer romance. Specially imported from Mediterranean countries, these Romeos would bring flowers, write poetry, and say things like "Your eyes are like the ocean." In short, they would do things that Danish men wouldn't consider even if it would give the local Copenhagen team an instant victory over the German national squad.

Foreign men play a curious role in the world of Danish romance, since they can sometimes make a Danish woman realize exactly what she is missing: those longing looks, those sweet words, that masculine worship that makes her feel so wonderfully female. A man in Madrid once told me that Danish girls on vacation were easy. Well, no wonder. Nobody's said anything nice to them in years.

Take a deep breath, everybody, but in the world outside of Denmark, florists are not just for buying a centerpiece for Aunt Bente's Sunday lunch. They are for sending roses to your wife or girlfriend, and in France, to your mistress too. In foreign lands, men buy women jewelry and furs to win their favors: they open doors and carry furniture. Some even earn a lot of money and pay all of the household expenses.

Sometimes Danish women capture these men alive and bring them back to Denmark, where the government punishes them by making them sit through infinate Danish courses and refusing to allow the couple to live in sublet apartments. I suspect that the new restrictions on marriage to foreigners are just Pia's sour grapes about ending up with a Danish husband.

Of course, there are already a large variety of foreign men available right here in Denmark. Many are tall, dark, and handsome, many are Muslim, and many are lovely people - one of my closest friends in Denmark now has a Pakistani boyfriend who treats her like a queen.

That said, one of the sad lessons of a multicultural society is that assholes come in every color. I'm ashamed to agree with Pia about anything, but there are, unfortunately, some "new Danes" who cannot understand the difference between an ordinary blonde girl on the street and the blond bimbo they saw soaping her plastic breasts on cable access TV late Friday night. Some of them see Danish girlfriends as temps until their future Mrs. Muslim right comes along. I've fallen for this one myself; it took me a while to figure out why the sweet Muslim surgeon I was dating would never introduce me to his friends, and always wanted to sit at the very back of cafes.

I have met these embarrassments-to-Allah; I have occasionally removed their hands from my inner thigh on the dance floor at the Copenhagen Jazzhouse. (In one particular case, I handled the situation New York fashion, firmly grasping the gentleman's hand and bending it back so far I almost broke his finger. He won't try that again.) Anyway, these jerks do more than cause bad karma between "new Danes" and standard Danes. They get in the way of truly nice immigrant guys getting laid.

Maybe, instead of importing romantic manpower, we could train Danish men to do better. Instead of those scuba courses they're so fond of, Danish guys could be sent on kissing courses to France, or seduction courses in Italy. Since I like a man who stands up for himself, even when confronted with lunatics carrying lethal weapsons, I might even suggest "misguided macho" courses in the USA.

In return, Danish men could provide exchange courses in the things they do well: housecleaning, meal preparation, child care. Forget Danish foreign aid - this is what would really win Denmark a place in the hearts of the world's women. And, darling Pia, it just might cut the immigration rate. Plenty of men will choose another destination when they find out that in Denmark, they must help do the dishes.