ladies who brunch

My fellow LWB contributor, Megan W., and I have taken pride in being Amazon women since we were 16 years old and were much larger than our GBF. I am about 5’ 10”. In my college Ultimate Frisbee team profile I think my height was described as “menacing” or “intimidating” or “a force” or something equally fucking boss. Sweet. Dig it.

When I studied abroad in Quito, Ecuador, a few years ago, I towered over everyone. People stared. I might also mention that I have blonde hair. Very long and very blonde. “HEEEYYY RRRRUUUUBIA, WHERE ARE YOU FRUUUM?” was a common (pick up line, harassment) question I got from short Ecuadorian men driving or walking by on the street. Whatever. It never went beyond stares on the bus because I was the tallest head in the crowd.

I currently live in Mexico City where, evidently, people are more frank and forthcoming with their thoughts on my size. I have been called:

1. gigante (gigantic)
2. enorme (enormous)
3. grandota (large, with emphasis on the largeness)

While I take pride in my badassery (height), straight up being called enormous—-“ERES ENORME. Yo pensé que Lenise (one of my American friends here) era enorme. Pero ya vi que TÚ ERES enorme.” (YOU ARE HUGE. I thought Lenise was huge. But then I saw you. YOU are huge.)—-doesn’t make a lady feel wonderful. This woman walked across an entire plaza at my friend’s workplace to make sure to share with me how truly gigantic I am. My host brother called me a giant when I complained about my knees not fitting in the bus seats. I can’t be the person with the longest legs in all of fucking Mexico!? Isn’t everyone else really fucking uncomfortable, too!? A bus caller man (don’t know what else to call him—he hangs out the bus door and calls the route out so everyone knows to get on his bus) once looked right at me as I stood waiting at the bus station and said, “¡Qúe grandta(s)!” (How large!)—which may have been a reference to my size or may have been a reference to my breasts. I didn’t catch whether it was plural or not. I am going with the size of my entire body rather than two particular parts because it makes me feel less disgusting.

Yesterday, however, in an English class I teach to niños, a 5-year-old little boy named Miguel told me, “Tu cabello es muy bonito,” (Your hair is very pretty) as he reached to touch some of my long, blonde hair. I thanked him and then he looked at me and very innocently asked, “¿Es oro?” (Is it gold?)  OMG BEST THING A MEXICAN EVER SAID TO ME. SO thanks, Miguel, for making up for the old lady who thinks I’m enormous and my host brother who things I’m a giant and the assclown bus caller who thinks he should say anything to me at all.

NOW, On to Older Mexican men. I have three crushes since I arrived in Mexico, all on older men.

1. One very considerably older (14 years) man who accompanies me to the bus and waits with me after frisbee practice. Very gentlemanly. 
2. One slightly shorter, older man (10 years). (Meg W. uses the word ‘elfin’—not insulting, just frank like me being enormous) We got beers one night and went to a concert together another night. Don’t know if those are counted as dates or not.
3. One only slightly older man (4.5 years) who I am going on (what I like to think is) a date with tonight. This third and final man happens to be the younger brother of number one, considerably older man. 

And all three happen to be good friends and on the same frisbee team I practice with here. At least I’m making it interesting for myself! 

Where did this new fascination with older men (and balding men…srsly) come from? I absolutely don’t know. Until now, I always chased after dirty, tall, skinny, long-haired sophomore frisbee boys. Maybe it’s because I graduated from college and now I’m really mature (HA YEAH RIGHT) and professional (I’m a full-time volunteer—counting it because it’s full-time, so sounds professional— even though I have no professional salary to match HA, actually not funny, sad.) Maybe it’s because they’re the only dudes I’ve actually met in Mexico who speak to me like a person, rather than a pair of boobs, and that aren’t 5 year old little boys who think I have pretty hair. Hey, you win some with super tall babes your own-ish age, and you win some having a great time eating tacos and drinking beer with a cute, older Meximan.