An evening full of fetish, armpit hair and wakefulness

It is very important for Tally that you pronounce her name correctly. Not “Täli”, not “Thäli” and certainly not “Theily”. Tally like Dali. Like Salvador Dalí. We discover in the first three sentences that Sandro and I exchange with DALI.

Dali is undoubtedly very attractive. Despite, or perhaps because of, her mullet. This one is quite colorful. It is darker at the top, becoming lighter at the back of the neck. Dali is wearing indefinable pants and a tank top. No bra.

Her arms are decorated with many small tattoos. Here a robot, there an astronaut. In between are small letters such as “Grrl Power”, “Equality” or “The Future is Female”.

Her nose is pierced. A round ring like bulls have. You know. Dali’s lips are painted pink, his eyes are dark. Looks great, I think. Sandro is gone. He thought Dali was uncool even before he met her.

The reason: Sandro believes that Dali is screwing his best friend. Since the good man fell in love with her, he has three sponsored animals somewhere, eats exclusively vegan and spends his weekends in some ayahuasca huts or workshops where everyone dances around the fire, meditates, what does Sandro know?

But what Sandro knows is that until recently Tim, his best friend, made fun of lifestyles like Dali’s. Not bad, not nasty, just not his. Tim is a brainiac the likes of which I have rarely met.

So now the four of us are sitting in Sandro’s kitchen. The initiative came from me after Tim had only been talking about Dali for weeks and Sandro had indirectly said 10,000 times that he wanted to introduce her to him.

Which in turn he did zero. In the meantime, I’m wondering why Tim didn’t just say it directly. Actually, I know: Sandro is great. And super uncomfortable. If he doesn’t like someone, he won’t keep it a secret.

He only sees Dali as a threat. After two weeks of dating, Dali insisted on opening it. Not just because she likes to sleep with women here and there, but because her “soul needs space”. Tim, being quite conservative, didn’t want that. But I had to, because ‘otherwise I would lose her.’

So it happens that during the Tantra Anything Weekends, Dali can easily make love to others in Tim’s presence, while he suffers in silence. It’s not good, I’m with Sandro. Anyway, Tim is 43. Dali is 27. Both adults. And yet on other points.

I am in favor of a fair chance for Dali.

She thinks that I cooked is very typical for “people your age”. The woman always stands by the stove. She would think that is nonsense. Let’s face it, the division of roles stopped 200 years ago. She knows no fathers who stay at home, no men who leave their careers behind them and certainly not 10 women at the top of large companies.

Dali finds big companies ‘creepy’ anyway. Everything corrupt. All ‘old white men’. Politics? All clowns. Except Tamara Funiciello and a few others. People who then work 100 percent of their time in this shitty system are all victims.

Tim and Sandro work 100 percent. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

Dali sometimes works here, sometimes there. In the summer she tried to become a lifeguard. She thought it was nonsense. She started training to become a yoga teacher. Was “way too much” for her. She currently works in a café run by a lesbian couple. But she only works there as a jumper.

Otherwise, Dali is busy making the world a better place. And that we become better people. We tell a story about Ben. It’s about his profession. I say ‘teacher’, she corrects me. It’s called ‘teachers’. Do it non-stop. I don’t participate non-stop.

Tim has already had it. He now calls me a cis woman, speaks about politicians, for example, and explicitly adds that he includes all gender identities in the expression.

Dali is beaming.

I smile.

Sandro sits on the wooden chair. His feet tap like he has restless leg syndrome. Which he doesn’t do. Sandro is just annoyed. Sandro wants his Tim back.

Still, she thinks it’s cool that we no longer have potatoes at our age. “Anyone who brings children into the world today is just an asshole.”

Oh, Dalí.

The climate, the war, politics. Anyone who tramples the planet should at least leave without reproducing. Dali is on his way. Many red dots are forming on her neck. She smokes one self-rolled cigarette after another.

Tim gives everything. He wants to hold her hand, put his hand on her knee, caress her neck. Dali doesn’t want any of that. As she explains things to us that we know and understand very well – including why it is so important to actively support the LGBTQ+ scene – Tim increasingly falls apart.

Then out of nowhere Dali changes the subject. She wants to talk about sex. About how “people your age” have no idea. About how ‘people your age live under the illusion that monogamy works’.

She asks if my armpits are shaved. They are, I say. Why, she asks. Because I like it more and feel more comfortable. Dali thinks it is “completely wrong”. Then Dali talks about her fetish, which we have secretly known since day 1: Dali loves armpit penetration. She cares so much about this, especially because of her armpit hair. I nod and listen with interest.

Sandro and Tim leave quickly. Officially getting paps. Unofficially, Sandro might want to quickly wake Tim up on the street.

Dali and I are sitting at the kitchen table. She wants some tea now. She wants to make me even more aware of why it is so important that ‘women your age’ defend themselves against the system. Celebrate sex. Don’t let male bosses tell you anything. And remove the razor from the bathroom cabinet.

I’m relieved when I hear Sandro and Tim. She wants to go now, Dali says. Tim just wants to put on his coat. He must stay, says Dali. She wanted to go out alone. Then Dali is gone. And Tim a lot of misery.

A case for a conversation between best friends. I’m also saying goodbye.

Three hours later Sandro sends me a selfie. He and Tim are laughing on the couch. On the table are empty beer cans, empty Minipic packs, a full ashtray, a used Kleenex pack (it wasn’t us) and a giant sliced ​​Prosciutto e Funghi pizza. He writes: “He finished the minipics and ordered the ham pizza. It’s very possible we’ll have him back soon.”

I am relieved.

No shit, nothing against all the issues Dali advocates for. On the contrary. I’m with her. It’s their actively aggressive way of doing things. It’s not mine, it’s not Sandro’s and it’s certainly not Tim’s. Just like armpit sex is not Tim’s. Or open relationships.

You can call us boomers names.

Sorry, boomers.