you are a mediterranean monica, but i’m an izmirian

and then i turned to her and said: “monica, i have something to tell you.”

she gave me this look

(wait i can’t say it when she is holding her breasts like that. i need a new one.)

i turned to her and said: “monica, baby i have something to tell you.”

she gave me this look

she asked “what is it aşkım? why are you so serious?”

i said “listen, baby. it’s been on my mind for a while now. i have to tell you something. actually, it’s more than just something.”

she said “you are starting to scare me…what’s going on?”

i said “baby, you do know that i love you, right?”


“and i will always be with you, no matter what. whenever you need something, you should call me first.”

“is this a break-up?”

“it’s not. i don’t want to call this a break-up. i want you to always be in my life. no matter what. but, there are some things about us that cannot change and i can’t ask you to change them…and it’s just…so obvious that we do not belong together.”

“i am one of the sexiest women on earth. what the hell are you talking about?”



“yes. what. that’s the problem, honey. i say kumru and you go google it up. the next day you have these animals shipped in and they are sitting there in that cage in the backyard and it breaks my heart to see them like that. i say pişi, you type in pisi and the next thing i know, we have 2 kittens. i don’t know what to do with all those animals monica.”


“i tell you i’m craving for izmir tulumu, you get me overalls. i say radika, you call me a radical. i say i love arap saçı, you go afro your hair…”

“i’m trying…i was…”

“i know what you was darling, i know what you was. you were google-translating that’s what it was. and it’s ok. thank you. it has been great to be lovers with you. but baby, this isn’t gonna work. you can’t even keep a straight face after your first sip of rakı. you do the dishes while i’m in the middle of my sunday breakfast.”

“but that takes like 6 hours!”

“yes, it does! because it’s turkish breakfast! that’s what i mean. we eat izmir tulumu-it’s not cheese. we like boyoz. i’m not into boyz. it’s called bo-yoz. and we eat our cucumbers and tomatoes-fresh! not as a salad. you just slice them. that’s it. and we don’t count the olives. we don’t count the pieces of bread. and no we do-not care whether we gain any weight or not. the truth of the fact is, we only care about digestion, and that is fixed easily by not moving at all and drinking lots of tea. this is how we do it in izmir. we drink tea.”

“you are crazy…what the…”

“monica, aşkım. i don’t want to get into all this. these are things that are not about you. it’s about being from other cultures.”

“but, people from different cultures can work it together! what the hell is wrong with you? so what? i don’t like your rakı and yes i hate it that you sit there for hours with your friends and eat eat eat and ask me to make tea all the time!”

“you never make us tea.”

“so what????”

“you don’t. that’s what i’m saying! you are not the wife that i want. you can’t be the wife that i want. because it’s not in you! you are gorgeous. yes, you have the black hair and eyes. yes you have the taste for olive oil and wine. yes, i love to taste the salt over your skin, and i love your breasts but…

it’s over baby.

it has to be over.

you are a mediterranean monica, but i’m an izmirian. and although these two sound like they are one, they are not.”

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