Intenta ser súper, súper graciosa.
Aunque tengas 0,00001 de gracia.
Ahora, hazlo en otro idioma, delante de un montón de gente que probablemente no entienda nada de lo que estás diciendo, y guarda la compostura, sin olvidarte jamás de tu nombre.
Elige una historia que contar.
Por ejemplo, cuenta la historia más extraña e inexplicable de tu infancia.
Una que en el fondo todos comparten, pero que no se atreven a contarla.
I am the Spanish girl that you all think I'm French because of my resting bitch face.
When I arrived here, to Miami.
my first chit chat with my new American bestie was about real non-superficial stuff,
She already knew I was French because my nipples are always screaming for attention, I don’t shave, I believe EVERYONE should be nude, all the time…and I basically live my life like it’s still the French Revolution.
So I tried to play my French card, but when we started talking about how many men we have been with, I surprisingly felt like a virgin again, touched for the very first time…
My Spanish Catholic upbringing was knocking at my door, telling me to shut the fuck up, because my wildest exploits were child’s play compared to these American kids.
There I was, on my knees for Jesus in Mass, and there they were on their knees for Jesus, Alex, Tom, Jim, Mark, David, Michael, Bryan...
But you see, I was born amongst women…French divorcee women.
Thank god they are French, and not Spanish. Because contrary to popular belief, the Spanish are boring.
Church every Sunday dressed all in black, in complete silence and only singing for dead people.
Except for the times we conquered the world and nearly killed a whole continent in the name of Jesus. …Ahh, the good ol’ days.
When French women divorce, we REALLY GO FOR IT.
We are reborn into a world of female glory, white wine, and most importantly, a little cocktail of melatonin mixed with Xanax.
I was raised with this beautiful idea, that I don't need men to have fun.
Women can have fun by themselves, and even more, without men.
So when I was 6 years old, I discovered something.
The biggest secret of all time, a secret that nobody else knew, only me.
And probably my mom.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was MASTURBATION.
My first long and loving relationship happened when I was around 8.
I started dating my shower head, that by the way, I found out that he cheated on me with the rest of the woman in the house.
But, of course, Masturbation is and always has been a… taboo topic.
So here I am, 8 years old, pregnant with my shower head’s baby while he runs around the house, pulsating with my aunt, my mom, (pause) ... my grandmother
Clearly… a man-whore. The nerve.
Having my shower head’s baby would EXPOSE my secret, so I knew I couldn’t tell my mom.
She would have never approved. He wasn't at all her ideal son in law.
So the only logical response…was to throw me down the stairs.
I always thought that nobody else knew what I was doing.
I used to elegantly hump my entire house and think, wow, if only someone knew what I was doing.
I was a professional. A professional gymnast.
The things that I used to do...
I could have gone to the Olympics.
I could rub myself with the corner of the kitchen table…upside down.
I used to be very inventive in my training, the arm of my sofa became my pommel horse.
Every time I had a dream about naked unicorns swimming inside a swimming pool, I would wake up doing a perfect full split on my pillow.
One day, my secret was unveiled.
My mom caught me. I thought she would be mad, but she was happy to see that I was as talented… as she was.
SO, I decided to share my secret with my girlfriends.
AND YOU KNOW WHAT?!¿
It turns out they were all future professional gymnasts too.
Thank you, everybody!
See you in Tokyo 2020"