Contemporary Love

Today we should have gone to get measured for our wedding clothes. But my father and sister visited last night until 3 or 4 in the morning and we didn't wake up in time. Instead, I had a challenging day.

I spent a lot of hours in the newspaper doing an assignment about a new law that will finally establish the general principles that decide which art groups receive government subsidies. Was a pleasure to have educated people on the other end of the phone. A journalist's job is not always like that so I thought I had a good day.

But when I left the newspaper I had one of those crushing scenes that remind us of Italian realism movies. I was on the street in front of the newspaper building when a scruffy looking guy (with his girlfriend) passed by, looked at me, and said, "Hey, hot chic!". I should have shut up, but I answered, "Dont speak to me. It's not right. You dont know me."

I really should have shut up because his girlfriend decided to put her nose where it didnt belong. "She must be a lesbian," she said. My blood began to boil and I answered, "No, I am not, but if I was it would be none of your business." In a heartbeat she was calling me names and putting my mother in the middle of the subject.

I didn´t answer with insults but I didn't step back. Looking at her straight in the eyes, I asked her to repeat what she said about my mother and she kept yelling and insulting without repeating. I kept saying, in a low voice, "Repeat what you said about my mother." That's when one of the drivers from the newspaper appeared and pushed her away. The security guard from the paper suddenly arrived too and ordered them to leave.

As if that was not enough, a prostitute who always walks that street at night appeared asking what was going on. I kept thinking, and if my colleagues are seeing this through the windows? What an ashame!!!

There I was with the woman screaming like a fishmonger, the boyfriend, the driver, the security guard and the prostitute. What next to complete a real latin scene in a European country?

What next? I guess the screamer's boyfriend got tired of her shrewish voice and he started to literally kick her butt down the street.

Well, well, he started it and he finished it - and I escaped safely to tell the story to my Adverb, who was peacefully waiting for me at home.

Meanwhile, I forgot to call the clothes designer and apologize for sleeping through our appointment this morning. And the fact is we dont have any time left. We marry in a few weeks, my American and I.

What? I didn't tell you that my love is American, that we overcame an entire ocean to be together? The street screamer really messed up my mind.

Our story started when once, four years ago, I was alone at home and I started to look for a literature group on the Internet. Appeared to me a list of millions of literary groups. I clicked on one of them and I decided to send an email asking Henry Miller and Anais Nin's birthdays. Because I didnt understand anything about the Internet, and I still don't, I didnt see that that group was no longer online. But, believe it or not, someone answered me. It was Adverb. Life can be amazing. How could this have happened to me, a genetic pessimist?

He answered me and I answered him back, asking again about writers. By our third or fourth email I knew he was from America and he knew I was from little Portugal on the other side of the world. A few months later we were already chatting. Everyday at the same hour. Two-and-a-half years later we decided to meet each other in Paris.

There I was, the genetic pessimist, the formal lady with a saintly and fragile face, on a plane to Paris to meet a man that could turn out to be a serial killer. He wasn´t and we fell in love. After that, well, planes to Portugal, planes to America, papers and more papers.

As it stands, we are going to marry in three weeks. So far, so good. And I learned my lesson. You dont buy the tickect, you dont win the lottery.