Guest Bloggess: The Truth About Brazil

Today, in the wake of a turkey- and ass-induced haze, I am happy to present yet another spectacular post by another fine female guest blogger. Today, it is the stunning Elizabeth Rose of Met Another Frog, an English lass who has conjured many a British-school-marm-and-undisciplined-punk fantasy in my fevered brain. Sit back. Soak it in. And see if you, too, don't fall under her spell.

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Brazilian women. Only Swedish women may come close to having the same mythological aura. It is a legendary level of hotness. Something mere mortals cannot hope to aspire to.

Or so they say.

I visited Rio de Janeiro recently and before I arrived I was worried about what such specimens would do to even my infallible confidence. I flew with my beloved British Airways, and had a very pleasant flight by any standards. By business class standards even – Elizabeth Rose does not fly economy – I was actually bemused by being served both lobster and steak on an eleven hour flight.

My flight landed late, and I hurried to join my friends for our first (Saturday) night in Rio. As it was, we managed to check off one vacation “must-do” that night: doing the waiters of the local bar. I wasn’t paying much attention, but I don’t remember seeing any “Giselle”-like stunners around to eclipse my dear friends and me.

The next morning, I was in the arms of a waiter checking off another vacation tradition; taking a romantic walk to watch the sunrise. And later that day after some rest, hydration and a long hot shower our bikini-clad bodies headed to the beach.

It was during the first leg of this constitutional that I became aware of one of my favourite aspects of Brazilian culture: Perving.

It is entirely acceptable to stare openly and appreciatively at others’ anatomy. The lewd looks our little trio scored from the men about were quite soothing to the ego, I must say.

I did my fair share of perving too. There were some truly delectable male specimens along Copacabana and Ipanema beaches. Made all the more enjoyable to the eye as they were often found at the exercise stations working out. Mmmm…rippling muscles overlaid by tans and tattoos. (As you can imagine, I have quite the “scenic” vacation album from my trip.)

After taking a whiplash inducing stroll of the beach, it dawned on me...

“Where were all these undiscovered supermodels of Brazilian lore?”

There were pretty girls; there were average girls; there were stunners; and those who hit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down. In short, there is the same glorious mix of looks, shapes and types of women as can be found in any city of the world. Really not the intimidating glimpse of Amazonian perfection I was led to believe existed there. Quite a relief all told.

However... Brazilian men are fine.

They are tanned. They are toned. They are tattooed. They are the undiscovered natural resource of that wonderful country. This isn’t something I had heard tell of before; which leads me to conclude that there may be a very cunning conspiracy by Brazilian women afoot...

In order to keep the abundant fineness all to themselves, they have created this beauty myth, scaring other females away from their “sperm bank."

And now that you know the truth about Brazil, I’d like to encourage you all to pack you tiniest bikini and book the next flight to Rio so we can all share in the testosterone available. Just don’t show up when I’m there – I’d like them all to myself.