Reasons 56 through 58
I know, I know, the picture is all sky, but you've got to understand me and Andalucian skies. This was Christmas week, in the Sierra Norte of Sevilla.
And now the continuing saga of one American and her myriad reasons for living in Spain. I've lost all sense of the numbers, by the way, so I´ll just pick up where I like.....
They call me Blonde.
True, at work I am affectionately (we hope) and frequently referred to as "la rubia". And outside of work, more than one Spaniard instructed to look out for a short brunette (morena) has approached me with a twisted brow, confirmed that I was indeed the person they were looking out for, and then pulled me aside to explain to me that I am, in fact, not morena.
- By the way, you're blonde. Eres rubia.
No one in the good old US of A is ever going to call me blonde. Or guapatona, for that matter. Particularly my boss.
Until they export morcilla in large and cheap quantities, I'm not budging. Americans, it's a sausage, but don't ask....It's also heaven with a cold beer and a piece of crusty bread.
If I go, I'm taking the storks with me. Speaking of which, time to run to work and see how their nests are coming along. They are everywhere, by the dozens. Already. Doesn't it seem early?
Labels: on living in Spain