The Problem With Beautiful Women

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How do you make yourself unpopular in Melbourne? Being homophobic. Hating gays is as popular as Tony Abbot or chain coffee shops. I think this is great; homophobia is pathetic. But the situation causes difficulties for me, like what happened today.

Today I saw two girls  holding hands, being cute and coupley and saying the silly things lovers do like “Of course I want to go to your Auntie’s dog’s birthday party!” One of the girls was absolutely stunning. The sort of woman that would make Aphrodite want plastic surgery. I could not stop looking at her. I’m 100% straight, but my god was she beautiful.

Some women are like that. Some women are just so incredibly, jaw droppingly, orgasmically, Penelope-Cruz-covered-in-Marshmallow-y beautiful that you can’t not stare. She was one of those women. The women they put on perfume adverts to mesmerise you into forgetting that you’re buying 10ml of gnat’s piss for $300.

 You just can’t not look and look and look. It’s not in a creepy way; I’m not thinking about getting with her. I am just marvelling at the sheer magic of how such incredible beauty exists in such a frail bunch of carbon atoms. She’s art.

And as I was staring at her, I realised that her girlfriend had seen me staring. Her face darkened. The beautiful girl saw her partner’s face, looked around and scowled at me too. She put her arm over her girlfriend’s shoulders.

Oh crap, I recognised the look; it was the one Melbournians save for homophobes and immigration policy.

How did I explain?! I tried to put the fact that I wasn’t thinking homophobic thoughts, I was only thinking about how much she reminded me of the little dormouse in my illustrated Alice in Wonderland book, into my expression. I think I just looked inbred.

The girls rolled their eyes and moved away.

I sighed. I don’t think I could have done anything about it anyway. What would I say? “Hey sorry for staring at you, I’m staring at you because you’re stunning, not because you’re gay, which isn’t something to stare at, well people might stare, but probably only people from the country, but not here, oh you’re from the country….well, great. Ok, I’ll just go and sit in a corner until you forget I exist.” No. I don’t think so.

Ah well. They’ll just think I’m a narrow minded gay basher and I’ll just feel mildly uncomfortable. The world will move on. But it is the problem of beautiful women; you just can’t not look at them. They absorb your attention.

Here’s why I can’t take you home…

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In typical middle class style, I like to pretend that I’m from the streets and well ‘ard. Yo. To cement my tough nut image, I like to listen to rap music and pretend I too am from the city that never sleeps. I’m from a village that sleeps at 9pm, or 10,30 if we’re feeling naughty bunnies.

So anyway, I’m currently into Kanye West’s Homecoming. (Which I know is old, but I’m not cool enough to know any hip and happening hip hop right now. So old Kanye is all I’ve got.) Anyway, listening to Homecoming, I always start think about coming home

Except that unlike Kanye, I have no city to come back to. No home with pebble dashed walls, a pond full of frogs and bushes cut into geometric patterns. And that sounds woefully dramatic, it’s not really. It’s when you’re 18, and you’re living in your third country, your home isn’t a house. It’s not a city, country or artfully minimalist Swedish inspired warehouse/space rocket cross loft space.

It’s the feeling you get when you’re around people who know you. I mean actually know you, as opposed to people who acknowledge your existence before continuing talking about themselves.

People who know that you get angry when you eat the wrong sort of museli. (NO. SODDING. COCONUT.) Or know that you like to sharpen your colouring pencils when bored. Or that you detest being interrupted when reading, writing or talking to oneself.

And being around people you know, and most importantly love, is what home is. Which is convenient because it means you can keep it with you – in your phone, computer and heads. Which is great when you have to fit everything else into 23kgs of baggage allowance.