The Beauty of Humanity Movement Read Online Free

Quebec, the first French Canadians Thas ever met. “We too were colonized by the French, as I am sure you are aware,” he said when he met them in the lobby yesterday, attempting to establish some common bond.
    Their reaction had caused Tto spend most of last night in an Internet café. Today he hopes to redeem himself with sensitive insightsinto their unique history and culture. He will need to, because Phng, green with hangover, does not look like he will be of any particular help.
    Tis indebted to his friend for changing his life, and he considers Phng a brother. He envies him like a brother too. Phng is taller and leaner, but it’s not Ts fault he inherited his father’s slightly bowed legs. The baggy jeans fortunately help disguise this. And at least both his eyes are real; there is no danger of inheriting his father’s glass eye. Tdoesn’t have nearly as white a smile as Phng’s, his upper teeth having been stained from taking antibiotics when he was a kid, but again—not his fault. And his hands? A little small, but surely more than made up for by the size and enthusiasm of his penis, as his future wife will discover.
    Currently there are no candidates for that job. An introduction through family is always best, and even if Phng prefers random girls for himself, as Ts honorary older brother, he introduces him to girls from time to time.
    Last Christmas there was this one girl Phng kept chatting about, and while Twas interested at first, the more stories about her charitable work that Phng recounted, the less interested Tbecame. By the time Phng finally introduced them, Twas expecting someone with a shaved head in a flowing saffron robe who had no interest in romance or other worldly (i.e., carnal) matters. Instead, he was introduced to a cute girl dressed as one of Santa’s helpers. She was wearing a short, fuzzy red-and-white miniskirt and her hair was tied into flirty Japanese-schoolgirl-style ponytails underneath her floppy Santa’s hat. Tsuddenly felt very shy. He felt other things too, but very shy was perhaps second on the list.
    It was Christmas Eve and the three of them were standing among two thousand other Buddhists facing St. Joseph’s Cathedral with itsblazing neon-blue manger. There were balloons and streamers and ribbons of fake snow floating through the air above, a rainbow of coloured lights beaming off the top of the church and music blaring over giant loudspeakers on the church steps, but all Tfelt was the fuzzy warmth of the girl’s skirt as she stood wedged between them, all he smelled was her perfume beyond the plastic scent of her clothes, all he felt, suddenly, was her hand on his hand, her head on his shoulder, all he heard was her whispering in his ear, “You can kiss me, you can touch me, if you’d like.”
    Twas shocked: there they were wedged together in the crowd when she turned toward him, barely an inch between their noses, and took his hand and placed it on her breast, which was like a perfect brioche from a French bakery, the nipple like a hard raisin. She then slipped her hand down between them and, although she had no room to manoeuvre, she managed to rub his penis through his jeans. In thirty seconds he erupted, making a sound like a small sneezing dog.
    He never saw the girl again. He tried to call her the next day but her cellphone number didn’t even exist. It was only then that he asked Phng, “That girl, she wasn’t …? Phng, you didn’t … did you?”
    “Merry Christmas, my friend.”
    Thad been extremely embarrassed about the whole thing and wondered if this is what Phng had meant when he referred to her “charitable work.” Still, he does savour the memory of it and dream of the meal that will come when he marries, because if he ever does get that close to a
real
girl, he will certainly be marrying her, although he doesn’t want to marry
that
kind of girl, he wants a quiet and traditional girl, one he can introduce with pride to everyone in his family,