lunes, 23 de agosto de 2010
Being blue eyed and blonde was never this hard...
It seems I’m encircled by linguistical bars that keep me enclosed in an anglophonal zoo of sorts. Yet, as discussed previously, my chiseled, Imperial features are contributing significantly to the upkeep of these bars. My house of sculpture (gym), or the one I now limp into in order to do physio (exercising every muscle but the one’s you can actually see), is becoming a source of considerable amusement; everyone thinks I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. This has been initialized by a personal trainer, Pablo:
So, there I was, chatting to him about personal perfection and what it was like to have reached it, when he suddenly goes…
“What the bigglesworth Pablo…what are trying to say? Come on lassy…where is it girl..what? They’ve taken the 4 wheel drive, 3ltre, bmw and crashed it into a rare species of Canadian maple tree?” I replied.
“No, no u look like arrrrnol…u know (the ‘k’ was probably unnecessary there)..Arnol.” He then carries out a lacklustre performance of some gun fight, I can only assume it belonged to a 'Terminator' film.
“Ah, je comprends, I’m not sure I quite agree but yes, the basic structure is certainly there,” I shot back at him, accompanied with a slight flexing of my left pectoral muscle.
“No, it your face.” He half laughed back at me.
“What the fuck Pablo, thanks a lot, why is it that I look German to everyone?.... I’m hardly the senator of California or even one of the boys in a Hitler youth propaganda poster.”
Regardless, Pablo has since been dining off his supposed light bulb moment ever since and worse, like some dogmatic, South American disciple, he’s been spreading the word. Consequently, it is the common man who now tries to catch a look (at my face) and then go scuttling off to the Pablo dwelling rockery to cackle away in agreement. I’m taking it all in my measured stride and even embraced the joviality. Just the other day I was conversing with a couple of Pablobians, asked to be excused to use bathroom and, as I walked away I turned, narrowed my eyes and grumbled: “I’ll be back”. They absolutely bloody loved it, I bloody loved, we all bloody loved it. Good delivery, good timing, great material…no one stood a chance.
Moral of the story: “looking German doesn’t presuppose a lack of humour.”
Publicado por F.U.F en 12:36