When I arrive, he tells me about a work party his boss is throwing for the employees in Norway, free alcohol is promised till 9pm.
I'm all for it.
The idea that we leave Karlstad late Friday afternoon to drive to Norway.
Before I continue the story, there's one thing that I ABSOLUTELY hate.
Going to the doctors. I hate it so much I walked around on torn tendons and ligaments for over a week just to avoid it.
When you're travelling you're prone to catching things... and, well, erm... there's what looks like a series of insect bite marks on my... my...
lets call it my 'rear upper outer left thigh'.
I'm a little concerned but I don't know if it's serious enough to see a doctor about.
I skype my mum around noon that Friday. Naturally, I bear my 'rear upper outer left thigh' to the webcam and ask her if I should be concerned.
Rickard and I spend Friday night in the emergency room.
In the space of three hours I've pulled my pants down in front of various unnecessarily attractive doctors.
The last of which writes me a script, ensures me that it's nothing to worry about and she says it's just a case of wrong place and bad timing (story of my life).
Later, I meet Rickard's brothers and sister. After I introduce myself, his sister asks;
"Are you feeling ok?" she says this while she points to her butt.
I nod politely, slightly red faced.
FINALLY we leave for Norway on Saturday.
Even though Rickard spends majority of the drive pointing out things which he has urinated on, it's beautiful.
We stop at a lake and I can barely believe where I'm standing. It's so very vastly different to anything I've experienced. It feels like I'm standing inside postcard and I can do nothing but laugh and smile stupidly.
Rick gives me a quick Swedish lesson. He teaches me some useful words like 'please', 'thanks', 'you're welcome' and a personal favourite of mine which literally translates to 'a phallus inside your rectum'.
You know... the usual stuff.
I've never been one to shy from meeting new people but I'm a nervous when we arrive. I try and make conversation with a few of his friends but they answer in one word responses even though they speak English.
I'm sure it's because they hate me
BUT
I've made my first mistake... I've underestimated the power of free alcohol.
For VERY OBVIOUS reasons I can't disclose an entire catalogue of the events that happen that night.
Here's a very rough brief time-line summary;
6pm- Drinking begins, light awkward social banter.
7pm- I've shown them a few of my favourite card tricks. They teach me some more interesting words to add to my Swedish dictionary.
10pm- I'm hustling free drinks from people with some very strategic betting. People are beginning to introduce me as 'Tear-ah the Australian gone walk about.'
We're singing some of the profanities I've learnt.
Loudly.
12pm- Camilla & I are putting pink lipgloss on their boss. His wife laughs, amused and asks me something. I can't quite hear her over the loud music... but I notice she's wearing a look of mild concern and pointing to her ass...
I ensure her that I'm fine.
Pretty sure table top dancing occurs.
2am- I've fallen madly in love and I'm convinced I will never ever love another ever again.
Come 4am I wake up on the bathroom floor and I've made some amazing new friends.
Obviously the ride home the next day is a less than pleasant experience. It's made a little less pleasant by some minor car trouble...
that turns out to be not so minor...
Rickard's father saves us and I'm to spend the remainder of my trip at his childhood home in Säffle.
When we arrive his mother hugs me, tells me how pleasant it is have me say with them and asks me something.
Before she has a chance to point to her 'rear upper outer left thigh' I've already responded smiling, "it's fine thanks."
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