Nobody in Norway

The fortuneteller told me that my other half lived in Norway. I cursed my bad luck: my friends found theirs in our neighbourhood with no effort at all. They came to the airport to see me off and stuffed me with yerba and Quilmes beer so as to alleviate my homesickness.

I wasted twenty years in Scandinavia but didn’t find her. I went back to my old neighbourhood, resigned to my bachelorhood and to listening to my friends complaining about how they don’t get on with their other half, doubting whether they are the ones the fortuneteller guaranteed them long time ago.

Their wives also call me, in their case to tell me how boring my friends are and how much they like adventurous men capable of going around the world to look for their other half.

They aren’t unfaithful. After all, they are the ones who are saving their marriages. Since we’ve been having these encounters my friends are happy and they hardly ever call me to have a beer, talk about football and play pool.

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