A Broad Abroad: Blame it on Rio

In all the times I’ve been in London, I have never, not once, run into someone I know. So imagine my shock when I was heading up the escalator at Liverpool Street Station, on my way to a friend’s house for dinner, and looked over and saw my Brazilian hook-up from the week before. He was walking down the station steps, but walked back up to meet me. True to form, he laid a huge smooch right on me, as dozens of fellow travelers gaped. blameitonrio


It’s funny how life works. Here I was, enjoying the newly single life, and doing my best to take control of the situation. After our little rendezvous I’d decided not to call the Brazilian, chalking it up as a night of fun and nothing more. The guy was gorgeous, sure, but his lack of English language skills made it difficult for me to see it going anywhere. On to the next guy!


So was it fate that led me to bump into him again, or just dumb luck? His kiss made me weak in the knees, and his good-humored joking (“Why you no call me?”) made me feel like maybe the story wasn’t over.


And it isn’t…yet. Yes, most of our conversations get lost in translation, and no, I still don’t see this little fling going anywhere, but hey—a little fun never hurt anybody.