Mr Norway

He was tall, well built and smart. If I had to pick a fault, his teeth had a slightly off-white tint, but that’s nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a whitening kit. Also, I wasn’t sure if his teeth looked awful because my nails were a luminous white that day. White was currently a theme in my life: white shoes, white dresses, white nails and white boys. 

He asked how my week was. It had been horrific. My laser hair removal session had been cancelled, so I was worried that at any one point I may revert to looking like an ape. I had an allergic reaction to some shitty gold cream that a Brazilian chap insisted on putting on my hand as walked past. The week had ended with my nails. I had no words when the stereotypical beautician presented me with thick and luminous white nails at the end of a long day. The irony of it all was that the ‘hand therapist’ (as she liked to call herself) was orange and had control pants on (something girls use to look skinnier), so she could avoid looking white and thick. When she had asked how I thought my nails were, I felt like saying ‘take the fake tan and control pants off then you will know’. That was my week. 
He looked at me expecting a response. I already knew he was the type of person with real problems. I was certain that if I told him all my superficial issues he would at some point come out with his real problems. I wasn’t ready for that. What a burden! I kept the problems in and stuck to small talk. Variety and vague was the theme of all my responses these days. When you start dating more than one person at a time, the more vague you are the less chance you have of tripping over yourself. I mentioned the gym, work and friends. 
He talked and talked. For once I listened. He was an egalitarian: equality, justice and freedom were the fuel to his life. The topic of why I came to England from Iran came up. He enquired and I felt like giving him a story about war and conflict and a poor little Iranian girl that had lost her family. He looked completely shocked and then I told him I was joking. I got on a plane (first class Iran Air – Iran Air is truly shit so first just means habitable) and came over and took some local jobs with a middle finger in air. He looked at me and I felt like I overstepped some boundaries. I hated it when people did that. If I am to make fun of my immigrant status, then you have no right to be offended. He bored me now I realised his personality needed a heap of seasoning. His political correctness drove me mad as he talked about how inappropriate my comment was. I had lost interest so I started to nod rhythmically to the sound of his bullshit. People often say rap music is filled with crap, if only you could hear him.

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