The boys paddle and parade about in the surf, dark skin glistening, droplets of sea-water sparkling like jewels in the brilliant sun, laughter and bravado lapping at their feet. Such beautiful men they are; rippled Brazilian abs and accents and arses. Bastards. Reclining on a creaking beach chair, I am torn between dwelling on my contempt for their utter masculinity, or looking at all of the pretty girls standing around looking at these pretty boys. Stuck somewhere in the middle it strikes me suddenly; what's all this attraction business about anyway?
That's what I thought. Everyone is just clueless about this whole business. I mean, I've seen girls fall head-over-heels for real low-down , no-good punks. Absolutely head-over! The whole time this guy treats her like dirt, flirting with her friends, calling her names, all the while preening himself in the nearest reflective surface. And she just laps it up! The guy practically has a flashing neon sign hanging over his head, advertising the fact he is a big ol' jerk in ruby-red letters: I WILL NOT RESPECT YOU. EVER. And what does she do? She wants to marry the fellow! I tell you, this whole schmozzle has got me plain perplexed.
Then again, sometimes you see couples who are basically glued at the hip, you know, finishing each others sentences and calling each other moopsy, or giggles, or something similarly ridiculous. It makes me want to puke. Yuk! I shouldn't be so bitter. I shouldn't be so cynical. Really, I should praise the Lord for working in such mysterious ways that a man who wants to call his beloved wiggy-boo should actually find a girl who wants to be his wiggy-boo and raise him with a fluffy-cuddles. I should shake my head, and gasp with awe at this coming together of parts to form a whole, this holy union of little jammy-wammy and puffy-bumps. I really should.
I think that's why people have cats and dogs. Get out some food and their undying love and loyalty is yours. If it was easy enough to find a mating partner by laying down a bowl of Whiskers and tapping the side with a fork, boy oh boy!
Goddamn Brazilians.
