While out with my new Spanish girlfriends at a local bar, it didn’t take long for me to notice Señor Guapo perched front and center with his friends. ” My friend Laura grasped my shoulder with as much force as her tiny frame would permit.
At first, I felt the kind of awkwardness where you don’t really know how to respond or what to do with your hands, but by the time we reached Casa Milà (about 52 kisses later, to be precise) I was firmly on board.
At 5 feet 3 inches and about 115 lbs, I always felt like “arm candy” in the US.
For Juanma, allowing the woman to pursue means avoiding her phone calls, talking about other women in her presence, and even going as far as to fib about one’s availability to solidify the second date.
“Juanma, are you trying to tell me you would lie just to impress a woman?
, but decided to stop there and dare not attempt a tortilla. My Spaniard love wanted every other man to know that I was his girl.
It takes quite the effort to fend off admirers on the crowded terrace of on a Saturday night, so he had his strong, tan arms around me at all time regardless of the temperature approaching 100 degrees.
I shot my Spanish girlfriends a look that said, “Watch this,” and before they had a chance to stop me, I marched right up to Señor Guapo and his buddies. The fluid chatter of his friends was swallowed by an uncomfortable silence, and Señor Guapo responded with little more than a nod. I was raised by two human rights advocates in a household of five women (and one very patient, gray-haired father).
Faking interest in a nearby jukebox, I remained glued to the floor, my pride scattered in pieces around my feet. The idea that approaching a man should be equated to sexual promiscuity makes my gag reflex quiver.
Our conversation had barely suffered a pause since Estebán appeared by my side earlier that evening.