Updated: May 4, 2020
If Casanova is the Don Juan of hombres, what does that make me? A delicate American transplant in the land of tragically short (albeit beautiful) Spaniards?
I draw absolutely no parallels. It makes me the female antithesis of Casanova or Don Juan or whatever other name male sex gods have acquired here on earth. But what I lack in charisma with the more rugged sex, I make up for in knowledge of all the best cheese joints in Madrid. Every girl has her strong suits. Mine pertain to cheese. Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe. I typically bring this up as bait when meeting a guy for the first time, reel him in… “Oh, you kind of like goat cheese?” *bat my lashes* “WELL, this place in La Latina…”
In short, I spit the game of a eunuch.
Like I said, standing at 5′ 8″ or about 1.72m for all you metrics out there (which is NOT tall), I pretty much have my pick of views: top of his head, top of her head, top of grease ball picking his crotch, top of bald-ee… I get to pick! It’s one of the perks of living here, belonging to such a singular group of Amazons (with the Germans, Swedes and Swiss). So imagine my dismay when my Lizzie McGuire Movie/Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (but imagine Spain) inspired dreams of a smoky-eyed tryst were dashed by the 1.62m average height. But again, elite club of Amazonians unite!
Anyway, any time my eyes meet, or God forbid, have to look up to meet some chico’s, my heart pitter patters a little faster. Nothing to worry about though, nothing to do with my mitral valve prolapse.
Anyway, here’s to recapping my not so prolific romantic encounters so far in Madrid…
1. Intercambio (n; in-ter-kam-byo):