ASHLEY'S SECRET DIARY - RIO DE JANEIRO WITH TEVVIE

 

I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with the fact that I’ve been planning this trip to Rio long enough to get myself an A1 Portuguese certificate. And yet, when I finally made it here, it was nothing like I imagined. It was better. So much better. Because Tevvie was there.

Tevvie’s kisses… dangerously addictive. Like, smuggle-them-in-my-carry-on-level addictive. Honestly, they should be declared under “explosives” at customs.

We were sun-drenched, salt-twisted, coconut-oiled, and knee-deep in trouble. We found a tandem bike (yes, a tandem, I’m still laughing) and cruised through the city like two runaway kids. And just when I thought nothing could surprise me… BAM! A soccer ball smacks the back of my head while we’re making out on the beach. Soap-opera level comedy. Kids staring, me sprawled out over him like a drunken mermaid. What do I do? I pop up and shout: “Tô viva, tá? Mas só porque ele é gostoso e beija bem!” 

From then on, chaos. We became The Minties (yes, like chewing gum), formed a beach team, I missed every possible goal, and laughed until my ribs hurt. Every missed shot meant another kiss.

And then… 🚫😏 let’s just say there are things you can’t even write in a secret diary (it would probably self-combust).  

Nope—not even my most password-protected diary could handle the heat. 🔥😏  

Yeah. Classified content. I swear it almost caught fire just thinking about it.  

But wow.

We made it in the ocean, under the burning sun, with the waves syncing to our rhythm. We didn’t need a full moon; we were the tide. Later, in a cabana… yeah, censorship again. Let’s just say if walls could talk, they’d be begging for an aspirin.

Sometimes I think he doesn’t just touch me. It’s like osmosis. He seeps into every cell, every breath. He blurs the edges of me until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.

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At Green Peace’s place, Cannabahia, a name that says it all,  between fragile plants and showers straight out of a horror flick (yes, the water ran red like a Carrie audition), we couldn’t stop laughing. Me doing zombie impressions with “braaains,” him pretending to give up on my survival.

We even got a CocoLure contract because apparently people lost their minds over how glued together by coconut oil we were. Olimpia wrote us a jingle, too. At some point we’ll have to record it. Who knew we’d end up being  testimonials in Rio?

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Then came the reggae concert—but that deserves a whole diary page on its own.

And after that? My latest obsession: meeting a shaman.  

Of course, when I finally got there, no one was home. Just a ridiculous circle of left-foot shoes outside the door and a note threatening a curse from someone calling themselves “Cobbler the Solemancer.”  

I mean—who even comes up with that?  

My brain immediately spiraled from “souls thief through insoles” to “serial killer with a freezer full of left feet.”  

Naturally, I sat down and started guessing the story behind each one.  

I could write a whole book: Cobbler the Solemancer.  And maybe I will.  

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The truth is, with Tevvie, everything turns into an adventure:  

A ball to the head becomes divine slapstick,  

a dirty pool transforms into a haunted playground,  

coconut shells double as astronaut helmets,  

and a tandem ride becomes a pirate-ship-meets-spacecraft,  

sailing straight into the clouds…  

(okay, maybe a little powered by Green Peace joints.)

Note to self:  

🌟 One day, ask Tevvie to lift me on his shoulders in front of a screaming crowd while the band plays something wild.  

I want Rio to stay exactly like this:  

our own private Big Bang.