Learn Portuguese With Clarice Falcão with these 23 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)

"Eu Me Lembro" is a playful ode to the way our minds mix crystal-clear memories with hilarious contradictions. The singers recall the exact moment they met, claiming it was "morning, three in the afternoon," on either a Tuesday or Thursday in September or December. This jumble of times and dates turns the song into a charming joke about how love makes us sure we remember every detail, even when those details do not agree with each other. Clarice Falcão and Moska trade lines, swapping he and she, to show that both sides of the story are equally fuzzy yet deeply meaningful.

At its heart, the song celebrates the magic of first encounters. Tiny snapshots—a lopsided blouse, melon wrapped in ham, eight or nine guests dancing—become treasures the singers swear they will never forget. By exaggerating the precision of their recollections while constantly contradicting themselves, they remind us that feelings matter more than facts. The result is a lighthearted, nostalgic anthem for anyone who has ever fallen in love and then spent years laughing about how it all began.

Vinheta Mix is a hilariously relatable snapshot of modern dating anxiety. With her trademark wit, Clarice Falcão paints the picture of someone glued to their phone, refreshing messages every few seconds and even calling their own number just to make sure the line is working. The song captures that familiar mix of impatience and hope we feel while waiting for a crush to reach out.

As the minutes crawl by, the narrator’s imagination spirals into absurd disaster scenarios—car accidents, lost teeth, muggings, amnesia—all invented to explain why the promised call still has not arrived. Beneath the comedy lies a gentle critique of how technology fuels overthinking and amplifies romantic insecurity. Clarice turns this everyday nervousness into playful storytelling, reminding listeners to laugh at our own dramatic inner narratives while we wait for that long-awaited notification.

Imagine strolling through a bustling street, yet every passer-by looks like a blank silhouette and even the air feels thinner. That is the surreal scene Clarice Falcão paints in Ar Da Sua Graça (“The Breeze of Your Grace”). Over a deceptively light melody, the Brazilian singer-songwriter confesses that she has been staring at one person for so long she has forgotten how to look at anything else. The moment this special someone disappears, colors fade, faces lose definition, and even breathing loses its charm.

In just a few bittersweet verses, Clarice turns ordinary directions like “look around” and “look ahead” into a playful checklist of heartbreak. Each command reveals how stuck the narrator is in her own longing: she tries to notice the world, fails, and returns to remembering the absent lover. The chorus sums it up with a clever wordplay on “ar” (air) and “graça” (grace, fun, charm). Without that person, nothing has grace, nothing works, and life itself is short of air. The song is quirky, relatable, and a poetic reminder that love can make the entire universe feel either vibrant or utterly meh.

Clarice Falcão turns heartbreak into a public-health announcement. In this witty, tongue-in-cheek track, she lists the “symptoms” of loving someone who is downright hazardous: a broken face from knocking on his door, a crooked walk from falling on his sidewalk, and a lingering ache that everyone can see. By piling up these humorous “injuries,” Clarice shows how a toxic crush can leave very real marks on our bodies and confidence.

Just like the health warnings plastered on cigarette packs, she imagines sticking a giant label on the guy’s forehead: “Você faz mal pra saúde”—“You’re bad for my health.” The repetitive chorus works like a flashing neon sign, reminding us (again and again) that some relationships are better avoided. It is a playful yet empowering anthem that invites listeners to recognize danger, laugh at the absurdity of harmful love, and finally kick the habit. 🚭❤️

“Chorar Na Boate” (“Cry at the Club”) turns the dance floor into an unexpected sanctuary. Clarice Falcão imagines a packed, sweaty party where the blinding lights and loud beats create the perfect cover for private tears. Instead of hiding away at home, the singer chooses the club, repeating that while there is a nightclub, and while she exists, this will be her place to let it all out. The irony is delicious: in a space built for joy, she practices vulnerability, poking fun at the idea that we must always be upbeat when surrounded by music and friends.

Beyond the playful setup, the lyrics carry a gentle philosophy of emotional honesty. Crying costs nothing, everyone feels sad sometimes, and even happiness — like everything else — eventually ends. Clarice extends an open invitation: if you need to cry too, come join me; no one will even notice. The song celebrates solidarity among strangers on the glittery dance floor, reminding us that it’s okay to feel whatever we feel, wherever we are.

Clarice Falcão turns romance on its head in Escolhi Você (I Chose You), serving a playful love confession that is half compliment, half comedic shrug. The singer lists the chaotic landscape of dating: lots of “bad people,” others who simply are not interested, and a shrinking pool of viable matches. Against this backdrop she proclaims, with tongue firmly in cheek, that her partner is the “least worst” option who just happened to be left standing. It is a clever twist on the traditional love song, where devotion comes not from grand destiny but from statistical survival.

Beneath the humor lies a relatable commentary on modern relationships. Clarice admits she chose “from the heart,” yet her frank honesty about limited choices highlights the insecurities and practical calculations many people feel but rarely say aloud. The result is both funny and strangely endearing: a celebration of imperfect love that acknowledges flaws, scarcity, and accidental luck, while still sounding sweet enough to make you smile and sing along.

Have you ever sworn you’d stop talking about a crush, only to catch yourself doing it again a second later? That is exactly the playful spiral Clarice Falcão explores in “Monomania.” The singer admits she has already penned “four, or five, or six, or more” songs for one person, yet still can’t resist picking up her guitar and following them from room to room with another melody. Even when she promises herself this tune won’t be about them… it turns out it is!

The song’s title comes from monomania, an almost comical single–minded obsession. Clarice turns that fixation into self-aware humor: she worries that if she ever wants to get rich, who on earth would buy an entire CD about only one person? Behind the jokes lies a universal feeling: the tug-of-war between the desire to move on and the irresistible pull of someone who keeps inspiring every rhyme. “Monomania” celebrates that sweet, slightly chaotic corner of love where creativity flourishes, reason wobbles, and every new verse somehow circles right back to the same unforgettable muse.

Ever felt like the only oddball in the room? Clarice Falcão’s "De Todos Os Loucos Do Mundo" turns that feeling into a playful love story. The narrator is tired of being “crazy” alone, so she chooses a partner whose quirks mirror her own. Together they speak imaginary languages, duet off-key, and politely give the air its turn to speak. What looks like madness to everyone else becomes a private code of affection that celebrates individuality instead of hiding it.

At its core, the song is a charming manifesto for unconventional love. Falcão suggests that the best relationships are not about fixing each other but about finding someone whose peculiarities complement ours. By embracing shared eccentricities, the couple creates a world where their “loucura” feels perfectly sane. It is a feel-good reminder that there is beauty in being unapologetically yourself—especially when someone special is just as delightfully odd.

“Talvez” turns the word maybe into a roller-coaster of hilarious images and raw feelings. Clarice Falcão, known in Brazil for her quirky humor and candid storytelling, sings about punching a pillow, picturing people tumbling down hills, and feeling a giraffe dancing in her stomach. Each bizarre scene is a playful way to reveal anxiety, overthinking, and the frantic whirlwind that can take over when you like someone and have no idea what to do with the emotion.

Behind the jokes lies a tender wish: if only the world would blur, the extras would fade away, and she and her crush could star in their own movie, everything might finally make sense. “Talvez” celebrates the awkward mess inside all of us, reminding listeners that it is okay to be a little “louca” while dreaming of a plot twist that lets love put us center stage.

“A Gente Voltou” is a playful love anthem that imagines the entire planet throwing a party just because one couple got back together. Clarice Falcão paints a humorous picture: police holster their weapons, bandits chill on the hillside, doctors abandon scalpels, and even the doomed passengers of the Titanic calm down—all thanks to the reunion. Her exaggerated vignettes spotlight how, in the heat of romance, personal happiness can feel powerful enough to heal wars, sickness, and tragedies in a single swoop.

Yet the chorus keeps asking “Mas e se a gente separa?” (“But what if we break up?”). That question flips the scenario: if love can save the world, its absence could end it. Falcão’s tongue-in-cheek storytelling reminds us that relationships often feel world-shaking, even though life goes on outside our bubble. The song is a witty celebration of love’s dramatic highs, playfully warning listeners not to take those end-of-the-world feelings too seriously.

„Eu Me Lembro“ znamená „Pamatuji si“. Píseň vypráví o setkání, které si vypravěč pamatuje až do nejmenšího detailu: bylo ráno nebo tři odpoledne, někdo přišel a někdo jiný vystoupal nahoru. Pozdrav „Oi! Fica à vontade“ [Ahoj! Klidně se tu zabydli] ale druhý člověk neslyšel. Právě tahle lehce zmatená scéna působí mile a legračně. Vypravěč pak říká, že život ty dva přivedl k sobě v konkrétní úterý nebo čtvrtek, v září nebo prosinci, a proto si pamatuje „cada luz, cada cor“ [každé světlo, každou barvu].

Romantika tu není dokonalá ani uhlazená. Na večírku bylo jen „oito ou nove gatos pingados“ [osm nebo devět koček, tedy jen pár lidí]. Jídlo je popsané podivně a vtipně: feijoada, brazilské jídlo z fazolí a masa, a k tomu šunka zabalená do melounu. Ona ho považovala za velmi vtipného, on mluvil a ona předstírala smích. Její halenka byla naruby a jemu se líbilo, jak se oblékl. Z těchto malých trapných a přesných vzpomínek vzniká něžný portrét lásky: ne jako velké filmové gesto, ale jako schopnost pamatovat si, co měl kdo na sobě, co se podávalo a kdo tehdy pozdrav neslyšel.

Ever tried to tell someone that all those dramatic “I love you” texts were just a joke? That is exactly what Clarice Falcão does in “Irônico.” Over a breezy indie melody, she repeatedly declares her love, only to pull the rug out from under the listener: it is all ironic. The fun lies in watching her giggle at how seriously people can take casual words, turning overblown romance into pure comedy.

Her comparisons make the punchline crystal clear. She says she likes the person the same way you might enjoy a cringy YouTube cover, follow a B-list celebrity, or hit “like” on a Facebook couple’s profile. Even ex-contestants from Big Brother Brasil get a nod. These tongue-in-cheek references reveal that her supposed passion is fleeting and superficial, more for entertainment than for the heart. In short, “Irônico” is a witty reminder that not every “I love you” calls for a cello solo - sometimes it is just a clever joke.

Minha Cabeça (“My Head”) is Clarice Falcão’s witty yet haunting confession of a brain that simply refuses to cooperate. From obsessive loops to late-night certainty, her thoughts turn into a noisy roommate that writes catastrophic movie plots, questions her sanity and hogs the conversation so loudly she can’t hear the world around her. The song mixes humor with raw honesty, showing how overthinking can be both absurdly funny and painfully exhausting.

Yet amid the chaos, there’s a tender revelation: one special ‘you’ has the power to press mute inside her head, tidy the mental mess and give her a breather. The repeated pleas, climbing from ‘someone mute my head’ to ‘someone cut it off’, capture the desperation of anxiety while highlighting how comforting human connection can be. In just a few minutes, Clarice delivers a roller coaster of emotions that doubles as a playful Portuguese lesson on vivid imagery, self-irony and rhythmic wordplay.

Clarice Falcão’s “Só + 6” is a witty snapshot of a never-ending night out. Each time she promises to take “just one more” drink or dance “just six more” songs, the sun creeps closer to the horizon, yet she keeps moving from bar to after-party to a friend-of-a-friend’s place. Beneath the bubbly beat, the lyrics reveal a simple motive: she will do anything to avoid being alone, so the party can only finish when tomorrow finally arrives.

The chorus mantra “Só mais seis” (“Just six more”) becomes a playful excuse to stretch freedom to its limit. Clarice celebrates the thrill of spontaneity—“I’m free, I’m free”—while hinting at the trap hidden inside that freedom, because the search for endless fun can turn into its own kind of captivity. The song is both a flirty invitation to keep the music going and a subtle reflection on how the fear of solitude fuels our desire to stay out till sunrise.

Το «Eu Me Lembro» («Θυμάμαι») μοιάζει με μια ερωτική ιστορία φτιαγμένη από μικρές, παράξενες λεπτομέρειες. Ένα πρόσωπο φτάνει, το άλλο ανεβαίνει, κάποιος λέει «Oi! Fica à vontade» [Γεια! Νιώσε άνετα], αλλά εκείνη δεν ακούει. Κι όμως, μέσα σε αυτή τη μικρή αμηχανία ο αφηγητής βλέπει το σημάδι πως η ζωή τούς έφερε κοντά: «a vida colocou ele/ela pra mim» [η ζωή τον/την έφερε σε μένα]. Η μέρα, η ώρα και ο μήνας μένουν χαραγμένα στη μνήμη, μέχρι και «cada luz, cada cor» [κάθε φως, κάθε χρώμα]. Είναι πολύ γλυκό, αλλά και λίγο αστείο: ο έρωτας εδώ δεν αρχίζει με τέλεια κινηματογραφική σκηνή, αλλά με έναν χαιρετισμό που δεν ακούστηκε.

Η γιορτή έχει μόλις οκτώ ή εννέα άτομα, δηλαδή «gatos pingados», μια βραζιλιάνικη έκφραση για λίγους και σκόρπιους καλεσμένους. Υπάρχει feijoada, το γνωστό βραζιλιάνικο φαγητό με φασόλια και κρέας, αλλά και η ξεκαρδιστική εικόνα «presunto enrolado no melão» [ζαμπόν τυλιγμένο σε πεπόνι]. Μετά έρχονται οι αδέξιες λεπτομέρειες: εκείνη τον βρίσκει πολύ αστείο, εκείνος μιλάει ασταμάτητα ενώ εκείνη προσποιείται πως γελά, η μπλούζα της είναι φορεμένη από την ανάποδη και εκείνος λατρεύει τον τρόπο που ντύθηκε. Το «Eu me lembro» [Θυμάμαι] επαναλαμβάνεται σαν παιχνιδιάρικη επιμονή: όταν κάποιος μάς ενδιαφέρει, θυμόμαστε ακόμη και τα πιο αλλόκοτα πράγματα.

“Eu Me Lembro” (“Yo me acuerdo”), de Clarice Falcão con Moska, convierte un encuentro romántico en una colección de detalles absurdamente precisos. La escena empieza con una confusión de horarios: “Era manhã / Três da tarde” [Era de mañana / Las tres de la tarde]. Una persona llega, otra sube, alguien dice “Oi! Fica à vontade” [¡Hola! Siéntete a gusto], pero la otra ni siquiera lo escucha. Aun así, quien narra decide que la vida los puso juntos aquel martes o jueves de septiembre o diciembre. La gracia está en esa seguridad enorme basada en datos bastante desordenados: no recuerda exactamente el día, pero sí “cada luz” y “cada cor” [cada luz y cada color].

La fiesta tampoco parece sacada de una película romántica: solo hay “oito ou nove gatos pingados no salão” [ocho o nueve gatos pingados en el salón], una expresión brasileña para decir que había muy poca gente. La comida mezcla feijoada con “presunto enrolado no melão” [jamón enrollado en melón], y los dos se gustan mientras todo sale un poco torcido: ella lo encuentra muy gracioso, él habla y ella finge reírse, la blusa de ella está puesta al revés y a él le encanta cómo va vestido el narrador. Ese “Eu me lembro” [Yo me acuerdo] repetido al final suena como una declaración de amor hecha con recuerdos pequeños, raros y muy concretos, justo los que nadie más podría contar de la misma manera.

Eu Me Lembro on Clarice Falcãon ja Moskan leikkisä muistelulaulu kohtaamisesta, joka tuntuu jälkikäteen kohtalokkaalta. Kertoja muistaa aivan kaiken: aamun tai iltapäivän, tiistain tai torstain, syyskuun tai joulukuun. Hän tervehtii: “Oi! Fica à vontade” [“Hei! Ole kuin kotonasi”], mutta toinen ei edes kuule sitä. Silti juuri tuosta oudosta hetkestä alkaa tarina, jossa elämä tuntuu tuoneen heidät yhteen. Toistuva “Eu me lembro” [“Minä muistan”] on yksinkertainen ja tarttuva: kertoja vakuuttaa muistavansa jokaisen valon ja värin.

Hauskinta on se, miten romanttinen muisto on täynnä pieniä kömpelyyksiä. Juhlissa on vain “oito ou nove gatos pingados” [“kahdeksan tai yhdeksän kissanrääpälettä”], eli paikalla on hyvin vähän ihmisiä. Feijoada, brasilialainen papu- ja lihapata, saa seurakseen yllättävän tarjoilun: kinkkua meloniviipaleiden ympärillä hunajassa. Hän pitää toista hauskana, toinen puhuu paljon ja naurua vain teeskennellään. Pusero on väärin päin, mutta pukeutumistapa silti ihastuttaa. Juuri nämä tarkat, hieman hassut yksityiskohdat tekevät muistosta uskottavan: joskus tärkeä kohtaaminen ei ala täydellisesti, vaan väärin kuullulla tervehdyksellä, oudolla ruualla ja paidalla väärällä puolella.

Clarice Falcão dziesmā “Eu Me Lembro” kopā ar Moska liktenīga iepazīšanās tiek atcerēta ar gandrīz komisku precizitāti. Viņš vai viņa ierodas, viens saka: “Oi! Fica à vontade” [“Čau! Jūties brīvi”], bet otrs to nemaz nedzird. Tomēr tieši šajā neveiklajā mirklī dzīve viņus saved kopā: “A vida colocou ele/ela pra mim” [“Dzīve viņu nolika manā ceļā”]. Dziedātājs atceras pat nedēļas dienu un mēnesi, kā arī “cada luz” [“katru gaismu”] un “cada cor” [“katru krāsu”]. Tā ir mīlestības atmiņa, kurā nejaušas detaļas kļūst svarīgas.

Un tad sākas brīnišķīgi dīvains vakara apraksts. Ballīte bija ļoti jautra, lai gan zālē bija tikai “oito ou nove gatos pingados” [“astoņi vai deviņi kaķi, kas bija sanākuši”]. Portugāļu izteiciens gatos pingados nozīmē pavisam mazu cilvēku pulciņu, nevis īstus kaķus. Viesim garšoja feijoada, bet dziesma uzreiz piebilst, ka tā bija “presunto enrolado no melão” [“šķiņķis, ietīts melonē”], kas šo romantisko atmiņu padara vēl smieklīgāku. Viņa atrada viņu ļoti asprātīgu, viņš runāja, bet viņa izlikās, ka smejas; viņai blūze bija uzvilkta otrādi, un viņam patika, kā viņa bija saģērbusies. Tāpēc atkārtojums “Eu me lembro” [“Es atceros”] skan tik jauki un pārliecinoši: šis cilvēks atceras pilnīgi visu, arī to, kas citam varētu šķist muļķīgs sīkums.

„Eu Me Lembro“ означава „Спомням си“ и песента превръща една среща в комична, леко объркана сцена. Разказвачът си спомня кога се е случило всичко: сутринта или в три следобед, във вторник или четвъртък, през септември или декември. Той казва „Oi! Fica à vontade“ [„Здрасти! Чувствай се свободно“], но тя не го чува. После решава, че животът ги е събрал точно един за друг. Повторението на „Eu me lembro“ [„Спомням си“] звучи едновременно убедено и подозрително, сякаш паметта му добавя по нещо всеки път.

Срещата е далеч от идеална романтична сцена: на партито има „осем или девет котки, пръснати из салона“, а фейжоадата е описана като шунка, увита в пъпеш. Тези странни подробности правят разказа смешен и много личен. Тя го намира за забавен, той говори толкова много, че тя само се преструва, че се смее; блузата ѝ е облечена наопаки, а той харесва начина, по който тя се е облякла. Така песента представя любовта не като съвършена сцена, а като куп дребни, нелепи подробности, които човек помни до последната светлина и всеки цвят.

„Eu Me Lembro” („Pamiętam”) Clarice Falcão, z gościnnym udziałem brazylijskiego artysty Moski, opowiada o spotkaniu, które narrator zapamiętał z przesadną dokładnością. Pora dnia jest dziwnie niepewna: „Era manhã / Três da tarde” [Był poranek / Trzecia po południu]. Potem pojawia się krótkie „Oi! Fica à vontade” [Cześć! Rozgość się], ale druga osoba tego nie słyszy. Zamiast wielkiej romantycznej sceny dostajemy niezgrabne pierwsze wrażenie i przekonanie, że życie postawiło tę osobę na drodze narratora właśnie wtedy, we wtorek albo czwartek, we wrześniu albo grudniu. Te celowo pomieszane szczegóły brzmią jak wspomnienie, które zna każdy drobiazg, choć nie potrafi już ustalić daty.

Najzabawniejsze są szczegóły przyjęcia i pierwszego spotkania: w sali było „oito ou nove gatos pingados” [osiem albo dziewięć zabłąkanych kotów], czyli bardzo mało osób, a feijoada, tradycyjne brazylijskie danie z fasoli i mięsa, zostaje zestawiona z „presunto enrolado no melão” [szynką zawiniętą w melona]. Jedna osoba uznała drugą za bardzo zabawną, ktoś mówił, a rozmówca tylko udawał śmiech. Do tego bluzka była założona na lewą stronę, a strój zrobił dobre wrażenie. Właśnie z takich krępujących, trochę absurdalnych momentów rodzi się wspomnienie, którego nie da się pomylić z żadnym innym: „Eu me lembro” [Pamiętam].

„Eu Me Lembro” znači „Sjećam se”. Clarice Falcão i Moska pričaju o susretu koji pripovjedač pamti do najsitnijeg detalja. Sve počinje pomalo nespretno: on ili ona stiže, pripovjedač kaže „Oi! Fica à vontade” [„Bok! Slobodno se osjećaj kao kod kuće”], ali druga osoba to uopće ne čuje. Ipak, baš iz tog promašenog pozdrava rađa se uvjerenje da je život spojio prave ljude, „ali naquela terça-feira de setembro” ili „quinta-feira de dezembro” [„tog utorka u rujnu” ili „tog četvrtka u prosincu”]. Varijacije u tekstu daju priči razigran, gotovo improviziran ton, kao da se sjećanje svaki put malo drukčije presloži.

Najzabavniji su detalji s male zabave: u salonu je bilo samo „oito ou nove gatos pingados” [„osam ili devet mačaka koje su kapale”], što je brazilski izraz za šačicu ljudi. Jelo je bila feijoada, poznato brazilsko varivo s grahom i mesom, a pripovjedač posebno pamti presijecanje šunke i dinje s medom. Netko je drugome bio jako smiješan, netko je pričao toliko da se druga osoba samo pretvarala da se smije, bluza je bila obučena naopako, a odjeća je svejedno bila oduševljenje. Zato „Eu me lembro” [„sjećam se”] ne zvuči kao velika ljubavna izjava, nego kao njezin pomalo smiješan dokaz: kad ti je susret važan, pamtiš čak i pogrešan pozdrav, čudnu kombinaciju hrane i bluzu na krivoj strani.

”Eu Me Lembro” betyder ”Jag minns”, och låten gör minnet både romantiskt och komiskt. Ett möte börjar med en förvirrande hälsning: ”Eu disse: Oi! Fica à vontade” [Jag sa: Hej! Känn dig som hemma], men den andra personen hör inte ens. Ändå bestämmer berättaren sig för att livet förde dem samman ”naquela Terça-feira/Quinta-feira de Setembro/Dezembro” [den där tisdagen/torsdagen i september/december]. De exakta dagarna och månaderna varierar i texten, som om minnet är lite rörigt, medan känslan av att minnas varje detalj är helt säker.

Festen var långt ifrån storslagen: det kom bara ”oito ou nove gatos pingados” [åtta eller nio ensamma katter], ett brasilianskt uttryck för en mycket liten grupp människor. Maten blir ännu knasigare, eftersom berättaren älskar feijoada men beskriver den som ”presunto enrolado no melão” [skinka inrullad i melon]. Sedan kommer de charmiga missförstånden: hon tycker att han är rolig, han pratar på medan hon låtsas skratta, hennes tröja sitter på avigsidan och han älskar hur hon är klädd. Det är just de konstiga, små detaljerna som gör att berättaren säger: ”Pode me perguntar de cada coisa que eu me lembro” [Du kan fråga mig om vad som helst, jag minns allt].

Clarice Falcão ja Moska laulavad kohtumisest, mida jutustaja mäletab peaaegu kaadrihaaval. Kõik algab ebamääraselt: „Era manhã / Três da tarde“ [Oli hommik / kell kolm pärastlõunal]. Ta saabub, teine inimene läheb üles, jutustaja ütleb „Oi! Fica à vontade“ [Tere! Tunne end vabalt], kuid teda ei kuulata. Ometi otsustab jutustaja, et just elu tõi nad kokku „naquela Terça-feira / Quinta-feira / de Setembro / Dezembro“ [tol teisipäeval / neljapäeval / septembris / detsembris]. Sõnad vahelduvad, nagu mälestus ise ei tahaks üht kindlat kuupäeva valida.

Kohtumine toimub peol, kus on „oito ou nove gatos pingados no salão“ [kaheksa või üheksa üksikut inimest saalis]. Brasiilia väljend gatos pingados tähendab siin lihtsalt väga väikest ja hõredat seltskonda. Menüüs on feijoada, Brasiilia oaroog, ning naljakalt kõlab „presunto enrolado no melão“ [singi sisse keeratud melon]. Mõlemad märkavad teineteise veidrusi: tema peab jutustajat väga naljakaks, tema räägib pikalt ja jutustaja teeskleb naermist; pluus on valepidi ning riietumisstiil meeldib talle siiski. Korduv „Eu me lembro“ [Ma mäletan] teeb sellest armsalt ebakorrektse armastusloo, kus tähtsad pole suured romantilised žestid, vaid vale kellaaeg, kummaline toit, liiga pikk jutt ja üks unustamatu teisipäev või neljapäev.