It may sound a little creepy, but I have some very VERY attractive relatives. I’m specifically talking about all my older male cousins and second cousins on my dad’s side. So, you have your cousins, and then you have your first cousins, and then you have your second cousins…Quite frankly, they’re some of the best looking guys I’ve ever seen in real life (IRL). There’s a saying, “If you ain’t Dutch, you ain’t much.” I think it’s fair to adjust this phrase to “If you’re Dutch…you’re born beautiful.” Sure it doesn’t rhyme, but I think it’s pretty applicable to the given situation.
You might be thinking to yourself, “Wow, Paula, how could you say that? Sounds like incest!” Well it would be if I were referring to my first cousins, but today’s tale is about my second cousins – which if you must know, in most states is technically legal.
Our tale starts on one of my many journeys to the Netherlands. I was studying abroad at Cambridge University (UK) for the summer and decided to swing by the Fatherland to visit one of my favorite second cousins, Jan Dirk (see Figure One) and my MC cousin, Paul. JD and I have known each other since we were little and he visited my family in the States. We kept in touch ever since we reconnected after a family reunion. I often refer to him as the fraternal twin I never had because we are very similar in personality and mannerisms.
Irrelevant to the story, but my friend thought JD was incredibly good looking. He rolled in on his skateboard with his blonde flow waving in the breeze and greeted us with a deep “Hallo!” Mind you his deep, raspy voice is primarily due to puberty mixed with heavy smoking – not a winning trait. However, sometimes I’ve referred to JD as my type if he would grow a good 5 inches taller. Mean – maybe? True – yes.
All this talk about JD really isn’t part of my story though, because I knew I was related to him. Just like my first cousins, I appreciate his good looks and I walk away. It wasn’t until the next day when we went with MC-V (aka Paul) to a festival that the story gets very interesting.
You mix alcohol, dance music and tall attractive Dutchies and you have the perfect cocktail. My friend and I had the time of our lives dancing for over 12 hours, going back stage and meeting a ton of new people. It was over 90 degrees outside, but we didn’t mind. It probably had something to do with backstage running out of water and only having bottles of Smirnoff Ice to drink. My favorite part was being asked why Americans dance the way we do. Apparently we’re doing it wrong. You’re supposed to flail your limbs around as if you’re a giant dancing wiggle man out side of a crappy car dealership. We were told that swaying our hips was uncommon in Europe and if you danced with a guy while doing that, it typically meant you planned on going home with him. The lessons you learn at festivals abroad.
Anyway, back to the good stuff. After the festival which ended at 9:00 PM, we went over to a bar. Because, you know, drinking more after drinking for 12 hours straight sounds healthy and normal. The bar must have known we were rolling up in numbers, because they set up their outdoor patio with about twenty chairs surrounding a fire put. I went to sit by my friend who was starting to fall asleep from all the exciting festivities to make sure she was okay. I looked across the circle of chairs and made eye contact with a chiseled-jaw man.
He smiled and my legs went to jelly. He looked as if he would make a mediocre soccer star. The type that gets all the endorsements despite not being the best player on the field. My cousin was sitting next to him and gestured to me to come over and get introduced. My friend looked at me with half open eyes and said, “He’s hot. Go for it.” And so, with the permission of a barely awake zombie, I walked over. Step by step I thought of what to say. Should it be a sly and sexy hello? A friendly hello with a handshake? Do they even like handshakes here? No! They prefer three kisses on the cheeks. Oh kisses, that does sound nice.
When I finally made it to my cousins side, I had decided that a friendly hello into three kisses was the way to go. It was both casual and cute at the same time. I was about to open my mouth to say hello, when Paul abruptly said, “Paula, meet your cousin!”