“Brazilian women have the biggest, most beautiful asses in the entire world.”
You said loudly and like you were not just doing us a favour by sharing this insight, but the entire worldwide fraternity of men as well. Then you leaned in closer, the grey hair spackling your beard a reminder that tact doesn’t come stock with age, and told us that you’d traveled all over Brazil––apparently on a butt safari––and found that the biggest, roundest asses were in Fortaleza. You spoke of Fortaleza like you’d just revealed a secret or given us a treasure map, as if the Ark of the Covenant was just the tanned glutes of Brazilian women––which probably would have made Indy’s job a lot easier, or at least limited the amount of Nazi’s involved.
All we wanted to do was pay, leave and drink our beer without having to be subject to your unsolicited, demeaning, Attenborough-esque descriptions of these women. But we were stuck behind you in line and not even our muted stares off into the distance dissuaded you. When you finally paid and left you said goodbye with a knowing look, like we’d just formed the sacred bond of Men; now inextricably linked through your knowledge of worldly backsides. But you were wrong, the biggest ass wasn’t in Fortaleza, it was right in front of us.