There is nothing I love more than exploring the amazing world of having an imaginary celebrity boyfriend. I’ve had countless imaginary relationships over the years with everybody from Bow Wow (my first) to Cory Booker, Idris Elba, Remy Danton from House of Cards, Jon Snow, and even Robert Downey, Jr. (a very short lived affair). So when the website Jezebel started writing a series of short stories centered around the imaginary world of dating a celebrity or TV show character called “Your Imaginary Boyfriend,” I was THRILLED and became an avid reader of the ridiculous series.
Now, recently I’ve been pretend dating the Peruvian football sensation Jefferson Farfán. Honestly he’s a great addition to the imaginary team and since I live so far away from my other celeb boyfriends, its only right that I have one here in Peru as well. So in this fun and slightly crazy post, we’re going to explore the made up universe of dating Jefferson Farfán. I hope y’all learn some Peruvian pop culture along the way. Here we go:
“This is every girl’s dream,” you think to yourself as you sip the finest pisco sour Peru has to offer and look out over the costa verde. He has rented out the most exclusive restaurant in Miraflores just for you but somehow you can’t get that pit of frustration out of your stomach. Its there – like a massive cloud looming over what is supposed to be a beautiful night.
“Mi amorcita, mi luna, por favor trata de entender,” he says and the pit in your stomach
dissipates long enough for you to admire his smooth chocolate skin and full lips. Its not everyday you come across such a chocolate delight here in Peru. And for a second you think to yourself, “Diosito mío, its almost as if he was made by Godiva.”
He always knows just what to say when you’ve had it with him. And usually calling you his luna during an argument is his Hail Mary of plays because it makes your hard exterior melt and your heart skip a couple beats. But now? Now you’re at you’re wits end and you’re starting to think all of Peru calls him La Foca not because of his speed and agility on the soccer field but because this fool is a slippery character in the game of love too. The thought alone enrages you and you spit back sharply, “¡Carambas! No soy tu luna y tu no eres mi sol.”
You don’t really mean that but when you’re angry, you can’t articulate well in Spanish so you say what comes to mind first and its usually a petty response comprised of elementary vocab words… Whatever. How can you possibly think in Spanish right now when Jefferson’s baby mama, Melissa Klug, is all over Latina talking about how he cheated on her and that tacky little girl Yahaira Plasencia (the so called Reina de Toto) and how he’s bound to cheat on you too.
You can tell he’s hurt by your harsh reaction – you can see it in his deep brown eyes. But the truth is, you didn’t sign up for this. You signed up to serve your country as Peace Corps volunteer not to serve as the North American laughing stock of all the Peruvian tabloids.
Its downright embarrassing and you’re as salty as the disgusting salted fish they sell in the market as you continue to sit there and ruminate in negativity.
The silence continues to cut the air as you angrily throw back another pisco sour. Unfortunately, in that clumsy anger, you spill the drink all over yourself. And despite having been hurt, Jefferson helps you clean yourself up – gently dabbing your dress trying to get the stain out and saying that he’ll buy you another one. And just then, the memory of when you first met hit you:
You were staying in Lima a few days to get the parasite you picked up taken care of (eating street anticuchos is never a good idea) and you were about to enjoy a nice adult beverage at Larcomar when the waiter mistakenly spilled it all over you. Next thing you know your soon to be Afro-Peruvian knight in shining armor was helping you clean up and promising to buy you a new drink with the one condition that you shared it with him. From that point on you two were inseparable and you even became the only person to convince him to cut that ridiculous Malcolm X conk relaxer out of his head – Now that’s love.
Once he finishes helping you get cleaned up, he kisses you on the forehead and says, “Si, sigues siendo mi luna, corazón,” and a bunch of other things you didn’t quite understand. But this time, its not because your anger is clouding you, its just because after only 8 months in Peru, your Spanish still kind of sucks.
You smile dreamily and think about how although you don’t always know his words,
you know his heart and you know that Jefferson’s heart only beats for you. At this thought, you find it impossible to stay upset. You lean in for a kiss and the warm embrace that you’ve grown to love so much. You are the only woman in #10’s life right now and you’re not going to let people from his past relationships dictate yours. You look out over the costa verde one last time before you exhale the drama into the cool breeze going out to sea.
You think to yourself before turning to your boo, “Haters gonna hate.” Why should that ruin your night?