By Johnny “Beef Boi” Romani
This is your resident New Jersey beef boy Johnny Romani reporting (straight outta Decaying White Suburbia), here to inform Sack readers that my girlfriend of 2 months, rent-payer of 1, is a sexy exotic queen that really wishes I would stop calling her that––especially in public but also, seriously, in private.
I met my indigenous goddess in line at a Middle Eastern food truck festival in Boston, the most racially diverse city I’ve ever been to and ever plan to go to. Within seconds of standing uncomfortably close to her, I knew that this foxy foreigner was the one for me. Her bodily aroma intoxicated me, and to this day I can only use white male poetry––sorry, I mean real poetry––to describe the scent. Was it gently spiced sandalwood, imbued with the erotic fumes of her hunter-gatherer ancestors? Or perhaps some curried jasmine, sensually lapped at in the flames of her ethnic hearth, AKA those brown lady parts? Either way, chick was super hot.
I asked her out by telling her she was the spiciest dish on the menu, to which she replied “Sorry what?” and gave me her number out of politeness before I could elaborate any further. The rest is history. We’ve since went out on two, two-and-a-half dates, if you count the time I asked her to translate the Taco Bell menu for me.
Though I can never remember her real first name, my ethnically ambiguous Khaleesi has taught me so much in our short time together. I learned that her family immigrated here from a remote fishing village by the name of Toronto and that she aspires to one day become a lawyer. This was when I knew she had a sense of humor, too; obviously you need to know English to be a lawyer, and her cute little broken accent could hardly muster out the words “Seriously, what the fuck are you laughing at?” over the sound of my loud, Caucasian guffaws. Ah, the colonized.
Although my Islander girlfriend has yet to warm up to my adorable but racially-triggering pet-names, she has miraculously yet to break up with me. Whether it’s because I’m a New Jersey five or because I’ve already promised to pay off her student loans will remain a mystery for a long time––or at least until my Sexy Samosa finds a way to poison me during one of our hot and heavy historical fiction roleplay sessions, which honestly, I would still find kinda hot.