para montuy.

She went straight into the kitchen and got her guests drinks fixed. She couldn't care less about the boring conversation her husband was having with his colleague in the living room: nothing more than a silly chat about entreprises and entrepeneurs. What a crappy afternoon, she couldn't stop thinkin' about the sound of those windy words, as hollow as her husband's new haircut. She knew he shouldn't go to Sam's again because he always leaves his hair absolutely dreadful. At the same time, she kept on wondering what would happen if she could have assisted to her meeting with the ladies' reading club. She had those meetings weekly, this time they were going to discuss Austen's "Pride and Prejudice". Just romantic thoughts and situations trapped in a Victorian era. Huge dresses and a pink world, waltzes and champagne. Why did she had to be stuck in the middle 50's, wearing an apron and the biggest -and far fetched- smile ever? She asked herself if she would prefer to be in Devon or some other place than her farm in her county, in her city, in her state, in her country, in her world. In her hands, in her body, in her teeth, in her cooking, in her silence and in her joy, in her daily routine, in her husband, in her specific way of fixing drinks. Afterwards she took the tray and walked straight into the living room.