Pessoal, estou meio sem axe de escrever esses dias. Mas estou com crise de consciencia pelos meus leitores (que pelos comments devem ser 3 ou 4). Entao lembrei que ha alguns anos eu havia escrito com amigos uma serie chamada Sex and the City of London.
Foi uma brincadeira com dois colegas de trabalho. Obviamente que eh uma brincadeira com a serie americana. Na epoca, nos trocavamos emails o dia inteiro sobre fofocas do escritorio e outros assuntos futeis (ainda bem que minha chefe nao fala portugues e nao vai ler esse post). Basicamente, a estoria eh sobre 4 amigas que moram em Londres e trabalham na City (para quem nao sabe, a City eh a Wall Street inglesa).
Cada um acrescentava algumas frases ou paragrafos e iamos entao montando o episodio. O primeiro episodio eh curto pois foi quando comecou a brincadeira. Nos passavamos dias para escrever um episodio inteiro pois, apesar de voces imaginarem o contrario, nos tinhamos que trabalhar. Nao sei bem o motivo, mas escrevemos somente 4 episodios. Uma pena pois acho que tinhamos futuro. By the way, estah em ingles.
Have you contacted him yet today? Asked Nicky. Are you waiting for him to contact you? Are you playing the I-am-not-in-love game? What makes Nicky wonder: Isn't it true that we all dream of getting a perfect man with a perfect body, an appartment in Park Lane, and a gorgeous gorgeous fantastic Visa Gold? Are we expecting somebody to bring to our lives the magic that we consider missing? Or what is more important, are we all sluts?That night Charly...
That night, Nicky did not feel like staying at home all alone thinking of Daniel. Therefore, she brought herself to a small dirty bar near her place. She wasn't feeling very happy after Xmas, but she still decided to go out anyway. She ordered a pint, it did not matter to her which brand.
At the same time, on the other side of the city, Vicky was at home sitting in front of her computer. After spending more than three hours writing an essay about something she could not care less, she decided to stop and have a glass of wine, always white.
While these two poor souls were abandoning themselves to the alcohol, Charly, who had recently found a job as a Sales Associate, was thinking about going back to the office to make endless calls to people she did not know and she did not care about. When she felt a tear falling over her right cheek, she decided to go to the fridge and take out a bottle of wine, always white.
And just like this, the three girlfriends decided to drawn their sorrows in alcohol - Charly and Vicky in a more stylish way than Nicky, since white wine is classy and beer common. With every sip, they started wondering what was so wrong in their lives to make those drinks the best companions ever, why could wine and Nicky’s beer make them feel better than any of their lovers have or will? And the most important question: were they all sluts?
While Nicky was resting on her sofa, all alone, she was still fantasising, and feeling fantastic, about the guy she had met last night in that dirty bar. She was already falling in love, even though she did not want to admit it to herself.
This made Vicky wonder: why are we so scared to admit that we are falling in love with somebody? Is it because it makes us vulnerable? Does it make us vulnerable because we could not accept the idea of the other person not loving us because "we are not good enough"? Or is it because we don't want to be ridiculous? And the most important question: are we all sluts?
The day after, Nicky meets Charly and Vicky for lunch, and at coffee time she told them that she was falling in love with Wayne (who was the guy in question). Charly, who had been in a relationship for more than four years, said: "That's great". But her expression was as fake as a ten pound coin, and Vicky, always classy and very knowledgeable, expressed, as usual, her sincere opinion: "Don't be ridiculous", she said with her exquisite tone of voice. She was scandalized to the extreme.
After one coffee and a couple of cigarettes, Nicky decided to take things slowly, and Charly, who could barely remember how excited and insecure people feel at the beginning of a relationship, agreed with her that it was the best and most sensible thing to do.
It was still Wednesday, and Vicky, who could not wait for Friday, since she had been planning to get drunk, still had to work on a couple of essays for university. Always learning, that's Vicky.
Nicky spent all afternoon thinking about this 'taking-things-slowly' issue. Charly's advice was echoing in her mind. How is it possible to take things slowly when one is completely in love? How is it possible to control your thoughts? Later that afternoon, Vicky turned up at Nicky's office to say hello. She was fabulous in her new outfit. She gave Nicky a precious advice: call Wayne. Nicky ended up calling him. She found him a bit cold on the phone. Was he really cold or it was her imagination? Nicky got confused and decided to call her beloved friend Christiane in Brazil. Chisty lives in London but went to Brazil to have a plastic surgery. She was busy having lunch with a Brazilian businessman. This made Nicky thinks about something. Are we always looking for the Mr. Right? Is it possible to stay single forever and just enjoy life? Are we all sluts?
Christy came back from Brazil two days later, and Nicky, Charly and Vicky could not wait to meet her. They knew that something was going on between Christy and that Brazilian businessman.
They decided to meet for coffee at the Dorchester hotel. Even if they all were down and out, they always had the spare £10 for a latte in the poshest hotel in London. Vicky and Nicky arrived together nearly on time, and Charly 10 mins later. They ordered their £10 coffees and talked about their weekly miseries. 5 mins later Christy showed up.
N, V and C could not believe it. "Christy, darling, those are the biggest plastic boobs I've ever seen in my life! Are you mad?", said Vicky. Nicky was horrified, but she could not believe when Christy said that they were a present from her Brazilian "friend" and added "And please, don't call me Christy anymore, call me Tiane, everybody does in Brazil."
If Charly did not slap her right there and then it was only because decency stopped her; and because they were at the Dorchester hotel, of course.
After listening to Tiane's stories (all glamorous, romantic, wild, etc.; and all located in exotic Brazil) the girls decided that they had had enough and that it was time to go home.
On her way home, Vicky (who was also thinking of changing her name to something more exotic) could not help wondered: why do women need bigger boobs? Are plastic boobs an extension of women self-esteem? Has self-respect anything to do with all this? Obviously not, otherwise, why would somebody go through an operation in order to get Barbie's tits? And the most important question: Are we all sluts?