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THE NEWS THAT SAYS GOODBYE TO MY LITTLE BURRATA
Having fun in the sun
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A few days ago, it was my dear lover’s birthday. And to thank him for his constancy, I gave him the most beautiful gift: I left him. At first, he laughed, thinking it was a joke, an early April Fool’s prank. But no, my decision was made, thought through, irrevocable. After two years of loyal service, it was time to send him back home, to his wife, so he could fulfill his duty where he was supposed to. I ended my little game on March 8th. A highly symbolic date to put an end to my foolishness and, for once, show some wisdom.
Because, let’s be honest, I have a kind husband. Handsome. Considerate. Helpful. But he no longer attracts me. It’s been five years now. So, I waited. Three long years, hoping that a sudden spark of desire would break through this dullness. But it never came back. And then, one day, at the end of this endless wait, Mattéo walked through the door of my shop. He had entered by chance, struck by the beauty of the place. I, on the other hand, was struck by him. A dizzy spell. The kind that comes with instant love, the lightning bolt that courses through the body like an electric shock.
I won’t lie to you—he wasn’t necessarily everyone’s type. A bit outdated with his 90s footballer haircut, his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, revealing a chest carpet worthy of a Turkish municipal pool filter. He had come to Paris for a seminar, the topic of which I never quite grasped, as his lilting accent blurred my understanding. And to be honest, I wasn’t listening. I was mesmerized by his eyes, his Ultra Brite smile inherited from a father who had modeled for toothpaste ads in the 70s.
