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THE BRAZILIAN

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The questions around life and love has been a long, painful and lonely process for me. I have grown cynical along the way. Ever since the I first heard mom and dad’s tale of bollywood romance I have dreamt of meeting my dream man, or for those indians out there….my raja hindustani, and for the white folks: my knight in shining armour. It’s not about meeting a guy, it’s about the funny banter that starts things up or the awkward situation that becomes cutely romantic with an ensuing complicated storyline that ends up in everlasting love. Yes it’s the fairy tale that all ladies are after, like the ones my parents had. Of course they are still together 35 years later but fight like cats and dogs, sometimes cute but most times irksome. But let’s leave that aside.

 
Unlike the grand love story of the parentals and other normal girls, I seem to always have a countlless number the most awful date stories !!!!!  I went out a few weekends ago with some doctor mates and after a serious evening of partying we ended up at a fairly well known, and some might say seedy, nightclub in the heart of melbourne. Shaking our tailfeathers and oggling at some fairly ugly men, it was not a night worth remembering until the end of the night; my friend Lisa and I were standing outside like two very sophisticated ladies sucking back a cancer stick, when along came a fiiiiine specimen of a man. 
 
He smoothly walked over and words swooshed out of his perfectly formed lips ,”where you from” he asked me in a funny italian accent.
I can’t remember much of the bullshit conversation that ensued other than there was a lot of ‘where are you from’ , ‘ no , i wont’ tell you unless you tell ‘ kind of childish banter. I was more taken by the faint smell of amazing cologne that emanated from him, and looking at his mild exophthalmos which was not unappealing despite whatever image you have conjured up. Imagine well built, great arms, great smile and very charming.
 
We ended up at worst club this world has ever seen.  A small dingy place playing drum and bass ( who knew THAT genre was still alive). He asked me few times why i had dragged him to such a shit place but he clearly didn’t seem to mind when 20 minutes into our conversation he put his drink down and started kissing me. Can’t say his slobber was the best experience I have ever had but there were some nice moments in that kiss so I decided to give him a second chance when he put his number into my phone.
 
Over the next three weeks we texted (it’s 2013 folks, love letters are dead and we must move with the times) and I kept asking Lisa (my girlfriend who I was standing with when he first came over to woo me me,  if the effects of the beer goggles had prevented me from seeing the truth but she reassured me that he was in fact good looking. I finally caught up with him 2 nights ago and I know this story is dragging on a bit so let me give you the snapshots:
 
I was at a grand festival called White Night, which btw was fantastic!!!!! I ended up with Lisa and few other friends at our usual place, Collins quarter where Mr Brazil (who btw, was born in Rome but grew up in Brazil) met me with a few of his friends. His flatmate, let’s call him fabio from afghanistan, was an absolute drunken douchebag which should have been my first warning sign. But nonetheless, on I went with my dream of a perfect brazilian/italian love affair.

My friends left, the bar was closing and frankly his friends were starting to bore me so when he said ‘lets’ get out of here’ I was more than ready. Walking the streets of Melbourne aimless at 3 am in heels is not my idea of a great night though. We tried to go to my favourite little spot, ‘eau de vie’ but of course it was closed and in a tiny alley way, away from prying eyes, mr brazil and I made out like teenagers until things got a little frisky. “No” I said ,’i’m not that kind of girl!!!’. Of course he tried being a little pushy but finally i walked away and he suggested going back to his place and to cut my long ramblings short I said no very firmly at which point he dropped my hand and WALKED OFF IN A HUFF!!!!!!!

BASTARD!!!!! he then acted irate because I would not sleep with him and I turned into some submissive twat that kept asking what was wrong.WHAT THE HELL DO U THINK WAS WRONG? Finally i said ‘look i should look for a cab’ and when after 10 minutes there were no cabs i said politely ‘perhaps i should catch a tram home instead, looks like it may be quite a wait for cabs’. His response irked me immensely, he simply shrugged and said ‘okay’. And there  I was, a single and some might say beautiful 31 year old walking the streets of Melbourne at 3.30 am to catch public transport. If, on the off chance, he is reading this i would like to say , ‘Mr Brazil, u are dead to me!’.

He messaged me the next day to say ‘it was nice to see you last night’ and I, of course, did not response. Kudos to me. To the readers out there, I know this has been longwinded but the point of the story in this case was that most men seem to be after that one thing. If he had not been so pushy I might have seen him again but alas, such impatience can be so unrewarding!

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