Scent of a Woman

While I was playing soccer in high school, I became close friends with a Brazilian exchange student named Roberto (Beto). Apparently, Brazilians are much more relaxed in about everything they do because once we started drinking, Beto would get a little wild. We went to a teammate's girlfriend's house for a little wet-down because her mom was pretty cool and hung out and bought us booze. Her BIG dad wasn't so cool, but he was away. Around 2 in the morning me, Beto, and the girlfriend were the only ones left standing. I, being a self-proclaimed Casanova, made the fast break for my teammate's girl (I never said we were friends and the team wasn't that good). Sometime after we rubbed a few out in her room, I pass out in the hall closet. Well, I guess sometime in the early morning, her dad came home and was already pissed at the sight of about 12 drunken teens crashed out in the living room with his wife, but he went to bed anyway. Beto wakes up, searches me out (still hammered) and starts to question the odd smell on my shirt. I blow him off and go sit in the kitchen and I hear Beto's thick accent asking Mr. L if that smell on my shirt was his daughter's "poosy". I must say, there aren't many things I can think of that hurt worse than being thrown into a rose bush. Beto still gives me shit whenever I talk to him.

Signed SKI

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