Like my watch, don’t ya!?
Yesterday as I was walking through the Plaza de Cervantes, a main hub for concerts, fiestas (which they happen to be having here in Alcala. It’s a fair of sorts that lasts every night for the next two weeks) I’m noticing a trend. I noticed it yesterday when I was wandering the streets lost, but I was too nervous, hot and tired to be upset about it, but this is a city of lovers. Every corner I turned, there were couples hugged up and kissing and leaning against someone’s wall. As an American, I was a little, umm, caught off guard, dare I say, but los espanoles didn’t blink an eye. It was as if it’s completely normal to see a couple about to embark on a little baby making right there on the cobblestone. As of yet, I haven’t gotten the nerve to ask any of the Spanish if that’s what’s going on. But if I see one more woman getting tongued on the corner and it isn’t me, I just might throw some pan at her. Have some respect for us Americans missing our other halves! SHEESH!
And speaking of disgusting, do you know what’s really disgusting? The fact that we have been sold fake melons. Today, for the first time, I ate a melon from a pueblo in Spain, and it was like eating the best candy bar in the world. Possibly comparable even to the best cake. I wanted to lick the juice off my fingers, but my host mother was eating in front of me and I didn’t want to be accused of making lewd lesbian gestures. But I suggest you all take to the streets and demand that they stop selling you that shit they call melons over there in los estados unidos. It’s not right, and I’ve got a taste of the Spanish to prove it.
I’m off to go suck the juice off my plate. My host mother’s just left. Time to get nasty.
The Monkey in my Brain 