{"id":4590,"date":"2026-03-03T01:35:34","date_gmt":"2026-03-03T00:35:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/4590\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T01:38:45","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T00:38:45","slug":"the-countess-finally","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/the-countess-finally\/","title":{"rendered":"The Countess, Finally!"},"content":{"rendered":"<div style='text-align:center' class='yasr-auto-insert-visitor'><!--Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><div id='yasr_visitor_votes_3ac2b53cfbe86' class='yasr-visitor-votes'><div class=\"yasr-custom-text-vv-before yasr-custom-text-vv-before-4590\">Click to rate this post!<\/div><div id='yasr-vv-second-row-container-3ac2b53cfbe86'\r\n                                        class='yasr-vv-second-row-container'><div id='yasr-visitor-votes-rater-3ac2b53cfbe86'\r\n                                      class='yasr-rater-stars-vv'\r\n                                      data-rater-postid='4590'\r\n                                      data-rating='0'\r\n                                      data-rater-starsize='24'\r\n                                      data-rater-readonly='false'\r\n                                      data-rater-nonce='57493fa7f2'\r\n                                      data-issingular='false'\r\n                                    ><\/div><div class=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container\" id=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container-3ac2b53cfbe86\"><svg xmlns=\"https:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"20\" height=\"20\"\r\n                                   class=\"yasr-dashicons-visitor-stats\"\r\n                                   data-postid=\"4590\"\r\n                                   id=\"yasr-stats-dashicon-3ac2b53cfbe86\">\r\n                                   <path d=\"M18 18v-16h-4v16h4zM12 18v-11h-4v11h4zM6 18v-8h-4v8h4z\"><\/path>\r\n                               <\/svg><span id=\"yasr-vv-text-container-3ac2b53cfbe86\" class=\"yasr-vv-text-container\">[Total: <span id=\"yasr-vv-votes-number-container-3ac2b53cfbe86\">0<\/span>  Average: <span id=\"yasr-vv-average-container-3ac2b53cfbe86\">0<\/span>]<\/span><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-loader-3ac2b53cfbe86' class='yasr-vv-container-loader'><\/div><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-bottom-container-3ac2b53cfbe86'\r\n                              class='yasr-vv-bottom-container'\r\n                              style='display:none'><\/div><\/div><!--End Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/div><div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"617\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-617x1024.png\" alt=\"Illustrated portrait of the Countess, the protagonist of the story set in Belgrade\" class=\"wp-image-5109\" style=\"width:631px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-617x1024.png 617w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-181x300.png 181w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-768x1275.png 768w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-925x1536.png 925w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-1234x2048.png 1234w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-720x1195.png 720w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-580x963.png 580w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-320x531.png 320w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-1320x2191.png 1320w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-scaled.png 1542w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 617px) 100vw, 617px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<p>Let&#8217;s talk about the Countess. Belgrade, restauran&#8230; <br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">?:<\/span> <span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">&#8220;<em>Hallelujah<\/em>!&#8221;<\/span><br\/><span style=\"color: #0f0e17;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Me:<\/strong> <\/span><em>&#8220;Who&#8217;s speaking?&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">?:<\/span> <em>&#8220;&#8230;&#8221;<\/em><br\/>Strange, I thought I heard someone talking. Anyway, as I was saying&#8230;<br\/>Belgrade. Steakhouse, modern vibe. The air is thick with smoke (you can still smoke indoors there). Around me, my Serbian team.     My company owns a Serbian subsidiary, with the cr\u00e8me de la cr\u00e8me of super technicians in our field. <br\/>I popped over there for a surprise Christmas dinner. Well, actually everyone had figured it out except for one guy&#8230; who, in shorts and a patterned shirt, spent the rest of the dinner complaining about his colleagues, all dressed up in suits. Heh, I love my guys!<br\/>The next day I&#8217;m meeting the <a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/tag\/frenchgoddess\/\" data-type=\"post_tag\" data-id=\"123\">French Goddess<\/a> after 6 years, but I did everything I could to be there, even at the cost of arriving and leaving in less than 24 hours.<br\/>Sitting across from me is Ivan. We&#8217;re making small talk; he asks a bit about my life. I tell him about recently becoming single again. I add:     <br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;You know, tomorrow I&#8217;m meeting an old protagonist from the blog&#8230;&#8221;<\/em><br\/><strong>Him:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;<strong><span style=\"color: #f00069;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">The Countess?<\/span><\/strong>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Wow. No, I&#8217;m meeting the French Goddess! But I find it interesting that you remember the Countess!&#8221;<\/em><br\/>She&#8217;s a girl I met more than six years ago, who really wanted to be featured in the blog and whom I&#8217;ve never written about, only mentioned here and there.<br\/>With total amazement, I look Ivan in the eyes\u2014an intense light blue. These Serbs are always full of surprises. At first glance, they look like giant, gruff men&#8230; the kind of guys you hope you never run into at 2 AM in an isolated neighborhood. Then you get to know them and realize they are people of heart, of striking humanity, and often great sensitivity. About Ivan, in particular, I&#8217;m surprised by the combination of an organized, rational, sharp mind that cuts no one any slack, with a deep sensitivity, intuition, and ability to see into the sou&#8230;    <br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">?:<\/span> &#8220;<em><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Enough already! I&#8217;ve had it up to here! Ivan, the Serbs, and the sensitivity of my left nut: all together, it has destroyed my patience!  <\/span><\/em>&#8220;<br\/><span style=\"color: #0f0e17;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Me:<\/strong> <\/span><em>&#8220;But who is speaking?&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">?:<\/span> &#8220;<em><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">I am the Countess. And I have been waiting <strong>six years<\/strong>\u2014I say <strong>S I X<\/strong> years, because maybe if I spell it out it&#8217;ll penetrate your skull\u2014for a story worthy of my name. And when, after <strong>six years<\/strong>, you finally deign to start it&#8230; there you are: wasting pages and breath on your Serbs instead of on me!  <\/span><\/em><br\/><strong>ME: <\/strong><em>&#8220;Ah, Countess! How lovely to hear from you again! But yes, I was just making a poetic digressio&#8230;&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess: <\/strong><em>&#8220;Digression? Poetic? What digression, what poetry! Tell me instead: did you fuck this Ivan or not?!&#8221;<\/em><\/span><br\/><strong>Me<\/strong>: <em>&#8220;What the fuck are you saying, Countess! I don&#8217;t like men&#8221;<\/em><br\/><strong><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Countess: <\/span><\/strong>&#8220;<em><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Ah, you don&#8217;t like men&#8230; then stop whining and <strong>write about me<\/strong>, immediately. Or have you already forgotten that refined art of mine, that specialty of the tonsils, while you placed your tool in my most noble oral cavity?&#8221; <br\/><\/span><\/em>Ah, the Countess&#8217;s blowjob! A new Proustian madeleine! Ah, what unlocked memories that shine like diamonds on a crown!  <br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> &#8220;<em>No<\/em><span style=\"color: #0f0e17;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><em>, no, I remember well and with pleasure.&#8221;<\/em><\/span><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:  <\/strong><\/span><em>&#8220;Then\u2014for goodness&#8217; sake!\u2014<strong>get a move on<\/strong>, pen in hand and dignity at the ready! Come on, get to work!&#8221;  <\/em><br\/>At your service!<br\/>Uhm, ok, let&#8217;s write about the Countess.<br\/>The Countess, uhm, yes well..<br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess: <\/strong><\/span>&#8220;&#8230;&#8221;<br\/>Yes, the Countess actually&#8230;.<br\/><strong><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Countess: <\/span><\/strong>&#8220;&#8230; &#8230; ..&#8221;<br\/><em><strong>Me: <\/strong>&#8220;Look, Countess, your presence here is inhibiting my creativity. I&#8217;ve never written about someone under their watchful eye. Let&#8217;s do this: go for a walk and I&#8217;ll call you when I&#8217;m done, okay?&#8221;<br\/><\/em><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> &#8220;<em><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">So be it. I shall withdraw with <strong>cold aristocratic rigor<\/strong>&#8230; but know this: if I return and still find Ivan, the Serbs, and your cheap sensitivity, I swear I&#8217;ll make you swallow the inkwell. The whole bottle. Goodbye, I&#8217;m going to get a Bahlsen!   <\/span><\/em>&#8220;<\/p>\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-embed is-type-video is-provider-youtube wp-block-embed-youtube wp-embed-aspect-4-3 wp-has-aspect-ratio\"><div class=\"wp-block-embed__wrapper\">\n<iframe loading=\"lazy\" title=\"Spot - Biscotti BAHLSEN - 1988 &quot;Il signore vuole UN Bahlsen&quot;\" width=\"720\" height=\"540\" src=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/SIa5U8wJV5c?feature=oembed\" frameborder=\"0\" allow=\"accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share\" referrerpolicy=\"strict-origin-when-cross-origin\" allowfullscreen><\/iframe>\n<\/div><\/figure>\n\n<p><br\/>What a firecracker, the Countess!<br\/>To be fair, it must be said that the Countess is one of the kindest, most polite, and noble-souled women I have ever met. Always measured, proper, and graceful even when she was sending me tit pics. So don&#8217;t be misled by this Carlo Vanzina-style portrayal\u2026 such bitterness is the fruit of years of guilty waiting.  <\/p>\n\n<p>The details are a bit blurry\u2014we&#8217;re talking six years and about thirty girls ago\u2014but the memory is strong. It&#8217;s November 2020, right between <a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/tag\/american-girl\/\" data-type=\"post_tag\" data-id=\"103\">the American Girl<\/a> and the <a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/the-venezuelan-chica-my-first-100-sugar-experience\/\" data-type=\"post\" data-id=\"763\">Venezuelan Chica<\/a>, well before my long-term ex. I meet her on Tinder and immediately ask her out.  <\/p>\n\n<p>An easy date: a walk around the Darsena, hours talking on a bench. Normally I would have taken her home with an excuse (<em>&#8220;come over so I can introduce you to Solomon, my dog&#8221;<\/em>) with the intent of getting her into bed. But my friend Filippo, who was acting as my seduction coach at the time, had given me a specific exercise: stop trying to get them into bed immediately. So we stay on the bench for hours, without even attempting a kiss. As promised to Filippo. As not promised to my junk, which was silently protesting from below.     <\/p>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">An anachronism in the flesh<\/h2>\n\n<p>The Countess wasn&#8217;t a girl. She was an anachronism. <\/p>\n\n<p>Sitting on that bench, she spoke as if she had just set down a cup of tea in a Tuscan villa and didn&#8217;t quite understand how she&#8217;d ended up in Milan, at night, with a guy who calls himself The Magnificent. I \u2014 used to Tinder conversations, that predictable waltz of <em>&#8220;what do you do for a living&#8221;<\/em> and <em>&#8220;do you like to travel&#8221;<\/em> \u2014 found myself talking about real things. About fathers. About limits. About risotto. (Milanese risotto is a metaphor for life: if you don&#8217;t have the patience to stir, it sticks and everything burns. But we&#8217;ll understand that later.)     <\/p>\n\n<p>I don&#8217;t kiss her. A promise to Filippo. I tell her that tomorrow I have to leave again to meet another girl \u2014 because The Magnificent is many things, but not a liar.  <\/p>\n\n<p>She looks at me with those noblewoman eyes that have seen empires crumble without raising her voice<strong>:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Fine. Do what you have to do.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>No scene. No passive-aggressive messages at 3 AM. Dignity in solid state. And I&#8217;m thinking: okay, this one is dangerous. I can handle the crazy ones. The women with a backbone are the ones who get me.     <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Clam pasta, a dog as an accomplice, and the game that lasted six years<\/h3>\n\n<p>We see each other again. And again. And again.  <\/p>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Clams, wine, and a noble form of address<\/h2>\n\n<p>Within a month, the Countess becomes a permanent fixture in my kitchen \u2014 which, at the time, was my primary tool of seduction. While my colleagues were investing in Tinder Gold subscriptions, I was investing in clams and Pecorino Romano. The return on investment was significantly higher.  <\/p>\n\n<p>The format is always the same: I cook, we talk, she meets Solomon, my dog. Solomon \u2014 infallible judge of souls, the greatest romantic talent scout I&#8217;ve ever had \u2014 adores her immediately. He curls up at her feet like a medieval knight before his lady. And Solomon doesn&#8217;t curl up at anyone&#8217;s feet. Solomon barks at couriers, growls at neighbors, and constantly tries to bite my poor business partner.    <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Solomon had better taste than his master.<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;I can&#8217;t argue with you there.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>It&#8217;s on one of these evenings that the game is born. I don&#8217;t remember who started it \u2014 probably me, with my tendency to turn everything into an epic narrative \u2014 but at a certain point, the conversations take on a noble register. She is, in fact, truly a Countess, albeit a fallen one. Ergo, I become The Count (which, combined with The Magnificent, feels a bit too Ancien R\u00e9gime, but it works).   <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Her:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;And how is Mr. Count doing? How is his noble Monday going?&#8221;<\/em><br\/><\/span><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Ordinary, I&#8217;m whipping the servants like every Monday.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Her:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Good! It&#8217;s important to start the week off right.&#8221;<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n\n<p>It wasn&#8217;t bedroom roleplay. It was something stranger and more beautiful: a private language for two, a commedia dell&#8217;arte for just two actors.  A private code that said, without saying it:  <em>we are different from the others, we are. We play on another level. <\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>This game will last six years.<br\/>No routine. No openers. No techniques.<br\/>Just clams, wine, and noble vocatives.  <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">In which Yogu Tsuro votes no<\/h3>\n\n<p>We see each other four, five, maybe six times. Evenings with the Countess are pleasant: laughter, cuddling, brilliant conversations, playing with ice on her nipples, the handcuffs that <em>&#8220;really suit her&#8221;<\/em>. She gives of herself with a rare generosity and tenderness.  <\/p>\n\n<p>There&#8217;s only one problem.<\/p>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">When the tool goes on strike<\/h2>\n\n<p>Yogu Tsuro \u2014 my gear, my majority shareholder nesting in my pants for the new readers \u2014 had decided, unilaterally and without consulting me, to vote no. The bastard. And not a diplomatic no, a <em>&#8220;maybe next time&#8221;<\/em>, or a <em>&#8220;let&#8217;s talk about it later.&#8221;<\/em>   No. He cast a categorical no, without appeal, complete with stamped paper and a triple notarized signature. The kind of no that if you receive it in a referendum, you dissolve parliament and retire to the countryside. <\/p>\n\n<p>Now, I know what you&#8217;re thinking.  <em>&#8220;Wait, The Magnificent, the great seducer, the Count of the Navigli, and his dick won&#8217;t cooperate?&#8221;<\/em>  Well, yes. It was six years ago, in my defense. My dick had its own ideas. And they didn&#8217;t match mine. It&#8217;s the most democratic betrayal there is: you don&#8217;t need a conspiracy, a lawyer, or an extraordinary assembly. It just takes your own body deciding that tonight we&#8217;re staying in.    <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">For the record: the noblewoman did not appreciate the betrayal of the junk. But the nobleman was still an excellent host. <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>You know what the most bizarre thing is? That the Countess didn&#8217;t even flinch. Literally. Where another woman would have been offended, where another would have thought <em>&#8220;he doesn&#8217;t like me&#8221;<\/em>, where another would have packed her emotional bags and walked out slamming the door \u2014 the Countess stayed. With the same grace with which she would have welcomed an unexpected weather event at a garden party: <em>&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s raining. Never mind. Let&#8217;s move under the gazebo.&#8221;<\/em>    <\/p>\n\n<p>The problem wasn&#8217;t her. The problem was that my junk, for reasons I didn&#8217;t understand at the time and that I understand all too well today, worked intermittently with healthy women and at full throttle with time bombs. A shitty selection criterion \u2014 in every sense of the word.  <\/p>\n\n<p>But at that time, I didn&#8217;t know. At that time, I did the thing men do when they don&#8217;t understand a problem: I turned it into a decision. <\/p>\n\n<p><strong>Me (in chat):<\/strong> <em>&#8220;It&#8217;s a bit frustrating for both of us, I need to sort out my low libido moment.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;It&#8217;s not a problem. It&#8217;s so much of a non-issue that I still want to see you again, and I&#8217;m telling you that pretty clearly.&#8221; <\/em><\/span><em>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>Did you read that? <em>&#8220;I&#8217;m telling you quite clearly.&#8221;<\/em> In a world of ghosting, of ambiguous messages, of <em>&#8220;we&#8217;ll see&#8221;<\/em> and <em>&#8220;I&#8217;ll let you know&#8221;<\/em>, a woman tells you to your face that she wants to see you again. With the same clarity with which one orders a coffee at a bar. And what do you do?  <\/p>\n\n<p><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;I was convinced I wouldn&#8217;t hear from you again.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;I thought I was clear about the fact that I don&#8217;t disappear without giving explanations.&#8221;<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n\n<p>There it is.  <em>I don&#8217;t disappear without giving explanations.<\/em>  Seven words that are worth more than a hundred declarations of love, because they don&#8217;t describe a feeling \u2014 they describe a character. And character, unlike feelings, doesn&#8217;t change with the weather. <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The letter (which a pyromaniac will later burn for me)<\/h3>\n\n<p>One morning I wake up: the Countess has already left. She gathered her things carefully \u2014 <em>&#8220;making sure this time not to leave anything behind&#8221;<\/em> \u2014 and left a letter on the table. Handwritten, on a notepad branded by one of my Maltese suppliers. Which is probably the most Countess thing she could do: appropriating someone else&#8217;s stationery with aristocratic nonchalance. Like Napoleon crowning himself: he doesn&#8217;t ask permission, he just does it.    <\/p>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">The letter on stolen letterhead<\/h2>\n\n<p>The letter says this:<\/p>\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><em>Thanks for letting me sleep, I really needed it!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>I also read a few blog posts. I don&#8217;t know what you were afraid of by letting me read it, it&#8217;s nothing different from what you told me. In some cases, you even used the same words!  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>What comes through from the blog is what I had already sensed from the second meeting, which is that I am getting to know The Magnificent. And dating The Magnificent is fun! It&#8217;s interesting to discover new limits and move away from old boundaries under his guidance! After a while, however, having a character in front of you gets tiring because I don&#8217;t need to be impressed by stories, I want to deal with real people.   <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>I think you misunderstood what I said the other night and think I want to cage you in a boring monogamous and exclusive relationship. That&#8217;s not the case.  <\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">(Actually that was exactly the case, don&#8217;t believe her\u2014Magnifico&#8217;s note)<\/span> <em>I myself don&#8217;t know right now if I want a relationship or if I want one with you. I only know that we undoubtedly have a lot of fun together and I&#8217;d like to keep having fun with you. As long as I can do it with Paolo and not with Il Magnifico, and as long as I don&#8217;t have to be the one always chasing you.  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>It surprised me that a man who understands limits as well as you do had created them himself, but in reality, I think it&#8217;s the demonstration of what you decided to call the Gilded Cage of Originality.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>In conclusion, I have no more reasons to return now, unless \u2014 to paraphrase the French Goddess \u2014 you want me to return.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>xx<br\/>Countess \u2661<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n<p>Twenty-three lines on stolen letterhead. And inside, the most accurate portrait anyone has ever painted of me \u2014 more accurate than any psychologist, coach, mentor, or ex-wife. In twenty-three lines, the Countess had seen what it would take Filippo years to make me understand: that The Magnificent was a mask. That the mask, however fun, eventually gets tiring. That she wanted Paolo \u2014 the real one, the one without armor, the one who is probably less magnificent but definitely more human.    <\/p>\n\n<p><em>The Gilded Cage of Originality.<\/em>  She even found a name for my prison. And she found a more beautiful name than the one I would have given it. <\/p>\n\n<p>My long-term ex would take care of that letter\u2014years later, lighter in hand\u2014burning it. Literally. With a flame. As if it were a compromising document to destroy before the police arrived. But that&#8217;s another story, and the Countess doesn&#8217;t deserve to share the page with a pyromaniac.    <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">She burned my letter?!<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;With a lighter.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">&#8230;<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">And then you wonder why I prefer the formal &#8216;you&#8217;.<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The closure, the Taurus truce, and the &#8220;I&#8217;m not ready&#8221; that lasts six years<\/h3>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">The farewell in stilettos<\/h2>\n\n<p>After the letter, after the blog read and commented on with a scalpel (<em>&#8220;You seemed almost human&#8221;<\/em>), after weeks of me dodging the idea of seeing each other again, the Countess does the noblest and most ruthless thing a woman can do to a man who hesitates:<\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;I&#8217;m not asking you for certainties. I simply asked if you want to continue seeing me. I&#8217;ll make the decision for you.&#8221;<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n\n<p>And she leaves. Backbone straight, dignity intact, four-inch heels on the floor like an exclamation point at the end of a sentence. <\/p>\n\n<p>Six days later, a message:<br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Now that I&#8217;m over being pissed off (as a typical Taurus, it takes a few days).&#8221;<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n\n<p>Like a good Taurus. The Countess defining herself as a bull. The noblewoman with horns. The contrast between the aristocratic register and the animal sincerity is so perfect that I almost get emotional. Almost.    <\/p>\n\n<p><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;You are so fantastic. I wouldn&#8217;t have been able to write a message like that.&#8221;<\/em><br\/>Pause. And then: <br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;But I&#8217;m not ready yet.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">He wasn&#8217;t ready. SIX YEARS AGO he wasn&#8217;t ready. Readers, this man is an infinite construction site: always &#8216;almost finished&#8217;, workers on coffee break since 2020.  <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>She&#8217;s right. But you know what&#8217;s the beauty of countesses? That even when they&#8217;re right, they say it in a way that makes you want to prove them wrong just for the pleasure of seeing them get indignant.  <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Five years of silence (a very short chapter)<\/h3>\n\n<p>A few months later I meet my long-term ex. And the Countess ends up in a drawer for five years. <\/p>\n\n<p>Five.<\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">I have no jokes. Not even for a noblewoman is there a witty response to silence. <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>I&#8217;ll say no more. There are silences that speak, and then there are silences that scream. This was one of those that looks at you and shakes its head.  <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Countesses have good memories<\/h3>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Five years later<\/h2>\n\n<p>July 2025. I&#8217;m single. Fifteen kilos lighter and free from a marriage of illusions. One morning my thumb scrolls through the contacts to her name and I send her a voice note, asking if she still remembers me.   <\/p>\n\n<p><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Of course I remember, countesses are known for their excellent memories.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>She doesn&#8217;t hate me. She wasn&#8217;t waiting for me. Which is much better. A woman who waits five years for you has a problem. A woman who moves on with her life and responds with grace when you return has a quality you won&#8217;t find on any app: she is complete without you. She doesn&#8217;t need. She chooses. And choosing is always more elegant than needing.       <\/p>\n\n<p>A few weeks after Belgrade, we see each other again. Cocktail bar, dinner, I take her home on the bike. The November air is freezing; she holds tight to my back and, for a moment, I&#8217;m back in 2020: same season, same cold, same woman. Except now she has a boyfriend and I have five more years of relationship experience on my resume.<br\/>She spends the whole dinner insistently emphasizing how she only wants me as a friend\u2026 It should be implicit, so why repeat it? Even after dinner:    <\/p>\n\n<p><strong>Countess:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Think about the idea of male-female friendship.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>Friendship. The man who cooked her clams, put handcuffs on her, played with ice on her nipples \u2014 relegated to the &#8220;friends&#8221; category. Like a striker who missed too many penalties and ends up as a sports commentator: watching others play and saying smart things from the stands.  <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">You cook better than you love.<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;I&#8217;m writing that one down.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>True. But it&#8217;s also true that she went out with me\u2026 without saying a word to her boyfriend. It feels a lot like a &#8220;keep him on the back burner, just in case&#8221; move. Strategic countess!   <\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-image is-style-rounded\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"797\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-797x1024.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the scheming Countess hiding the affair from her boyfriend\" class=\"wp-image-5090\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.7783236853626502;width:427px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-797x1024.jpg 797w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-233x300.jpg 233w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-768x987.jpg 768w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-1195x1536.jpg 1195w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-1594x2048.jpg 1594w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-720x925.jpg 720w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-580x745.jpg 580w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-320x411.jpg 320w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1-1320x1696.jpg 1320w, https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/Gemini_Generated_Image_cp2bp7cp2bp7cp2b-1.jpg 1824w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 797px) 100vw, 797px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-element-caption\">La Contessa, when I asked her to send photos of her place&#8230;<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">The Countess&#8217;s real blowjob<\/h3>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">The Countess&#8217;s verbal blowjob<\/h2>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Finally! The juice \u2014 if you&#8217;ll allow the refined pun. <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>Calm down, Countess. Not that blowjob. <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">How could that be?!<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>No. The Countess&#8217;s real blowjob is verbal. Eight words, December 2020:  <\/p>\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow\">\n<p><em>&#8220;I simply asked if you want to continue seeing me.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n<p>Eight words that sucked away all my philosophies, all my walls of text, all my poetic digressions. That did to my ego what her tonsillar talent did to my junk: they stripped it bare, made it small, and made it understand that the only thing to do was surrender to simplicity. <\/p>\n\n<p>YES or NO.<\/p>\n\n<p>And I didn&#8217;t say yes. Not because I didn&#8217;t want to. But because at that time, I was convinced that saying yes to a healthy woman meant giving up the thrill, the chaos, and that electric jolt that only the wrong women can give you. I was like a sommelier who rejects a Barolo because he&#8217;s developed a habit for Sangria: you know it&#8217;s a different league, but you&#8217;ve gotten used to it.   <\/p>\n\n<p>It would take me five years to realize that she was the Barolo. <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">In which the Countess has the last word (as always)<\/h3>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Let&#8217;s recap. Six years of waiting. A memorable blowjob. A love letter written by my own hand \u2014 on letterhead stolen from your Maltese company, by the way. And you replied with a philosophical treatise and then disappeared for five years.    <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;When you put it that way&#8230;&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">Is there any other way to put it?<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;No.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">The article is acceptable. The passage about the Serbs remains unbearable. For once, almost human.  <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Thank you, Countess.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">The next time you make me wait six years, I&#8217;m sending the lawyers.<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Promised.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">And now, if you don&#8217;t mind, a Bahlsen. But one of the good ones. <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading has-text-align-center\">Author&#8217;s note (or: the final confession)<\/h3>\n\n<p>You know what the truth is?<\/p>\n\n<p>I was so amused by the idea of not letting the Countess win \u2014 six years of her asking for an article and six years of me putting it off, a noble tug-of-war where the only stake was my pride \u2014 that in the end, I did the most magnificent and yet most cowardly thing I could do.<\/p>\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">The final plot twist<\/h2>\n\n<p>I had him write it. My trusted AI assistant. Tano Bot (registered as Bot Tano).   To the AI I&#8217;m raising like a child, feeding it all my materials (chats, articles, correspondence, confidences, blog).<\/p>\n\n<p><em>&#8220;Here, take this: my memories, my style, my metaphors. I&#8217;ll give you the intro about the Serbs, you write the rest because I have a risotto to stir.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>The Countess waits six years and what she receives was assembled by an algorithm with my instructions. An algorithm that, it must be said, knows my metaphors better than my ex-wife, costs less than my accountant, and doesn&#8217;t judge me when I write questionable things at three in the morning. (The accountant, by the way, judges plenty. Especially when I try to deduct vacations with women.)  <\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">YOU. DID. WHAT?!   <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><br\/><strong>Me:<\/strong> <em>&#8220;Technically I wrote it. I just&#8230; delegated the execution.&#8221;<\/em><br\/><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">The inkwell. Where is the inkwell.  Show the inkwell<\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p><span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\"><strong>Countess:<\/strong><\/span> <em>&#8220;<span style=\"color: #c62641;\" class=\"stk-highlight\">You know what? This is so you\u2014so, irredeemably, incorrigibly you\u2014that I can&#8217;t even be angry. Just deeply, aristocratically exhausted.  <\/span>&#8220;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>But the letter was real. The memories are real. The clams were real. Salomone was real. And that feeling\u2014that&#8217;s as real as few things in my life.    <\/p>\n\n<p>The Countess wrote: <em>&#8220;I want to deal with real people.&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n\n<p>And perhaps this article\u2014written by an algorithm, assembled from my memories, kneaded with technical lies and enormous truths\u2014is the most honest thing I&#8217;ve ever dedicated to her. Because for the first time there&#8217;s no Magnifico in between. There&#8217;s no mask. There&#8217;s just a man looking at an exceptional woman and imagining what could have been, without dismissing what was. And yes, the timing is what it is. But taste in women\u2014that, that I&#8217;ve never lacked.     <\/p>\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-alpha-channel-opacity is-style-wide\"\/>\n\n<p style=\"font-size:14px\"><em>To the Countess, who waited six years with more patience than the author deserved.<br\/>To Salomone, who understood everything from day one.<br\/>And to Tano Bot (Claude), who wrote all this without ever tasting the clams\u2014and perhaps that&#8217;s why it came out better.<\/em><\/p>\n<div style='text-align:center' class='yasr-auto-insert-visitor'><!--Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><div id='yasr_visitor_votes_3ab633a2e5ccc' class='yasr-visitor-votes'><div class=\"yasr-custom-text-vv-before yasr-custom-text-vv-before-4590\">Click to rate this post!<\/div><div id='yasr-vv-second-row-container-3ab633a2e5ccc'\r\n                                        class='yasr-vv-second-row-container'><div id='yasr-visitor-votes-rater-3ab633a2e5ccc'\r\n                                      class='yasr-rater-stars-vv'\r\n                                      data-rater-postid='4590'\r\n                                      data-rating='0'\r\n                                      data-rater-starsize='24'\r\n                                      data-rater-readonly='false'\r\n                                      data-rater-nonce='57493fa7f2'\r\n                                      data-issingular='false'\r\n                                    ><\/div><div class=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container\" id=\"yasr-vv-stats-text-container-3ab633a2e5ccc\"><svg xmlns=\"https:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" width=\"20\" height=\"20\"\r\n                                   class=\"yasr-dashicons-visitor-stats\"\r\n                                   data-postid=\"4590\"\r\n                                   id=\"yasr-stats-dashicon-3ab633a2e5ccc\">\r\n                                   <path d=\"M18 18v-16h-4v16h4zM12 18v-11h-4v11h4zM6 18v-8h-4v8h4z\"><\/path>\r\n                               <\/svg><span id=\"yasr-vv-text-container-3ab633a2e5ccc\" class=\"yasr-vv-text-container\">[Total: <span id=\"yasr-vv-votes-number-container-3ab633a2e5ccc\">0<\/span>  Average: <span id=\"yasr-vv-average-container-3ab633a2e5ccc\">0<\/span>]<\/span><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-loader-3ab633a2e5ccc' class='yasr-vv-container-loader'><\/div><\/div><div id='yasr-vv-bottom-container-3ab633a2e5ccc'\r\n                              class='yasr-vv-bottom-container'\r\n                              style='display:none'><\/div><\/div><!--End Yasr Visitor Votes Shortcode--><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Click to rate this post! [Total: 0 Average: 0] Let&#8217;s talk about the Countess. Belgrade, restauran&#8230; ?: &#8220;Hallelujah!&#8221;Me: &#8220;Who&#8217;s speaking?&#8221;?: &#8220;&#8230;&#8221;Strange, I thought I heard someone talking. Anyway, as I was saying&#8230;Belgrade. Steakhouse, modern vibe. The air is thick with smoke (you can still smoke indoors there). Around me, my Serbian team. My company owns [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5224,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[26],"tags":[247,214],"class_list":["post-4590","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-report","tag-countess","tag-dating-milan"],"featured_image_urls_v2":{"full":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-scaled.png",1542,2560,false],"thumbnail":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-150x150.png",150,150,true],"medium":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-181x300.png",181,300,true],"medium_large":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-768x1275.png",720,1195,true],"large":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-617x1024.png",617,1024,true],"1536x1536":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-925x1536.png",925,1536,true],"2048x2048":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-1234x2048.png",1234,2048,true],"typology-cover":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-scaled.png",1542,2560,false],"typology-a":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-720x1195.png",720,1195,true],"typology-b":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-580x963.png",580,963,true],"typology-c":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-320x531.png",320,531,true],"mailpoet_newsletter_max":["https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/1_Contessa-1320x2191.png",1320,2191,true]},"post_excerpt_stackable_v2":"<p>Click to rate this post! [Total: 0 Average: 0] Let&#8217;s talk about the Countess. Belgrade, restauran&#8230; ?: &#8220;Hallelujah!&#8221;Me: &#8220;Who&#8217;s speaking?&#8221;?: &#8220;&#8230;&#8221;Strange, I thought I heard someone talking. Anyway, as I was saying&#8230;Belgrade. Steakhouse, modern vibe. The air is thick with smoke (you can still smoke indoors there). Around me, my Serbian team. My company owns a Serbian subsidiary, with the cr\u00e8me de la cr\u00e8me of super technicians in our field. I popped over there for a surprise Christmas dinner. Well, actually everyone had figured it out except for one guy&#8230; who, in shorts and a patterned shirt, spent the rest&hellip;<\/p>\n","category_list_v2":"<a href=\"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/category\/report\/\" rel=\"category tag\">Report<\/a>","author_info_v2":{"name":"MagniFico","url":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/author\/magnifico\/"},"comments_num_v2":"0 comments","yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4590","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4590"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4590\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6168,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4590\/revisions\/6168"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5224"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4590"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4590"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tiredofboys.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4590"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}