Contrary to how it appears in this picture, Johanna is not that type of girl. Well, she may be, but I would seriously be surprised. The two draped around her are Colombians SHE met while we were trying to enjoy a friendly competitive game of Rugby at our new favorite bar in Madrid.
So it’s some team versus some other team, the countries now all scrambled in my brain. Johanna went for one team and I went for the other. We’re sitting there drinking our mojitos when a guy comes up and starts talking to her. I for one am relieved. For once, it’s not some dude trying to hit on me or follow me down the street. I’m free to watch the game in peace especially once they amble off to the side where the “friendly” Colombian’s brother has been left alone.
Well, needless to say, my team gets spanked, and I’m pretty sure it was Scotland versus South Africa now that I think about it because I remember the crazy chick yelling louder than everyone and everything in the bar, “SCOOOTTTTTTLAAAAANNNNDDD!” over and over again, and acting a ridiculous fool when they scored and my team still had not. But that’s unimportant. Bitches.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, Johanna and her whorish behaviors. Lol
So all was good even though my feelings were sore at losing, and I had to pay up by buying Johanna the drink I owed her for losing the damn game. So I’m at the bar when all of a sudden, up comes Colombian brother. He’s a little inebriated. Well, a lot inebriated. Apparently, it’s his 27th birthday. And apparently, he’s taken a
fondness for me.
Now as you can see in this picture, it
wasn’t one of my hottest days. I was wearing
a baseball cap, my signature gray shirt and
my Levis. My hair was out of control under
the cap. I was just regular ol’ me. No glim,
no glam, no nada.
But oh boy, did I turn on a Colombian that night!
One would have thought I was walking around looking like Angelina or Rihanna or Beyonce, or well, whoever you think is the most beautiful woman in the world. I was “guapisima” and “divina” and “how beautiful” and blah blah blah. Lol It was soo pitiful it was almost endearing.
Until he started touching my face. And then, my friends, it became a culture war.
I had to remind this poor fellow that I am an American girl. And where I come from, the woman’s rules are the only ones that matter. And my first rule is that you do not touch my face. EVER. Well, I don’t know if it’s my FIRST rule, but it’s pretty up there.
Needless to say, I was repeating “no me tocas” over and over again as well as “respetame” y “yo tengo limites”. His brother seemed embarrassed, I understood that homie was drunk, but both of them were pretty aggressive.
It always astonishes me how a woman’s boundaries are so often overlooked in so many cultures, our own included. It’s okay for a man to touch the body of a woman he doesn’t know anymore than Mother Teresa. But let me go up and grab some man’s balls and I would probably start WWIII. It was okay for this guy to grab and rub my face, and invade my personal space and try to plant his umm, juiced lips on mine. It was okay for his brother to basically make his home on Johanna’s lap (until I tapped him and said, “personal space, dude” or something like that hehe).
Here, as well, the culture differences are so immense with regard to men and women. I constantly find myself batting off the advances of men younger than my grandchildren and old enough to be my mom’s grandpa.
One time, Johanna and I were running. This OLLLLLDDDDD man was saying something to me and so I removed my headphones only to wish I had turned up the volume and kept on running. I won’t even repeat what he said to me, but I’ll just say, I felt a little virginal in comparison to that little dirty old man.
On an almost nicer note, the Spanish are also a very affectionate culture. I am often greeted with a kiss, which always reminds me of the French chick that accosted me on my cheeks when I was nine. People touch you when they’re talking, and when friends are out together, it’s not uncommon to find them sitting really close and talking directly to one another (something I am desperately working trying to incorporate into my repetoire of “Spanish habits I find endearing and hope to imitate until they become second nature”)
On the flip side of that is the overboard affection. Too many times I’ve found myself sitting next to a couple who I’m sure is trying to suck each other’s faces off. And it sounds like an oyster eating contest with a whole lot of smacking, sucking and pawing. It’s disgusting! But then again, old men (hopefully not the same ones hooting at me all the time) and old women still walk around holding hands. Women kiss their babies way more often than it seems they do in the states and kids are revered by everyone.
So while it’s often difficult to separate the advances of these men who’ve lived in cultures where they’re not only entitled but also expected to be aggressive, it’s also nice to see so much affection. Now if anyone sees me caught in the grasps of Grandpa Jose on the park bench, getting my face sucked off, please, please, please come rescue me.
And Denese, get your people. They’re running amuck in Spain.