Tati Bernardi talks about spicy fetish: love for life – 03/24/2024 – The Worst of the Week

Renatinha writes to me wanting to know if I have strange fetishes.

Wow, Renatinha, I think I’m going to disappoint you. My big fetish is shopping in pharmacies and stationery stores or being able to sleep without waking up in distress at four in the morning.

But if you want to know something more spicy, my big thing is finding a love for life, something much rarer than crazy people hanging from chandeliers in order to urinate sequins that would draw sphinxes in my solar plexus.

Fernanda, unaware of Renatinha’s question, wants to know what turns me on the most: not leaving the house, reading a book while lying down with her feet on the lap of someone who is also reading a book and doesn’t want to leave the house.

And kiss people who make you feel amalgamated with the cosmos (also rarer than someone hanging from a chandelier). I can’t stand tongues that resemble gas station dolls (and that when they fit are strangely hard and seem to be looking for a filling rather than your happiness).

Cris asks me if I would rather be a cockroach or have to eat a cockroach. When I was in my penultimate year at college, I went to a costume party and met a guy named Vinícius. He was dressed as a cockroach and his girlfriend was dressed as insect repellent. I found them both creative, cool, handsome, and a few days later I started having an affair with the boy, even though I knew he was taken. I acted like a disgusting insect (and he did the same), but I was 19 years old and there weren’t that many sorority hashtags in my life yet. Together we went to the moral sewer and it was all worth it because he introduced me to the works of Nelson Rodrigues (as brilliant as Clarice Lispector and Kafka).

Ana wants to know when I should go to Rio de Janeiro. Look, I was there in December and there was no air conditioning at Galeão airport. Inside it was a thermal sensation of 200 degrees. I saw that I was going to faint (I’m vasovagal), so I took off my shoes and all my clothes, leaving me in my bra and hot pants in the boarding line. Ask how many people found this strange in Rio de Janeiro? None.

I bought a small bottle of mineral water and poured half of it on my head. I followed the boarding line, now soaked and wearing underwear and no one came to ask me if I was okay. So I just passed out and eventually I was offered help, which consisted of waiting 40 minutes for a wheelchair. At that time, when I was naked, wet, half-passed out and in a wheelchair, a carioca woman looked at me and said: “I love your podcast, can we take a photo?”

So that’s it, I’m really weird, but not to the point where I don’t find the carioca even weirder (however, my new obsession is seeing photos of a surfer with three herniated discs, his eyes are as imperturbable as they are sad).

Mariana wants to know if privileged people can suffer. Outside of Twitter (I refuse to call it X) not only can they but they must. But inside it is always important to just be grateful, apologize and praise others.

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