Yesterday was Sant Jordi, the Catalan Saint Valentine, the book and the rose, the stands and the crowds in the streets.
As always, the amount of presents received is: 0. It’s got nothing to do with being single. My exes weren’t the paradigm of romanticism—just an observation, not a bitter complaint. [You don’t insist on the importance of Saint Valentine to ignore the day when it comes.]
A day when boys get a book and girls a rose is all about sexism. No, ladies, don’t get excited; I’m not heading there. The boss of my research group bought roses for all the girls. And for the boys? Nothing. Guess how many girls complained about this discrimination…? Exactly.
Anyway, I strolled down the Rambles out of masochism, I guess. I actively dislike walking in the crowd, partly because my pace is fast and slow motion kills me. Whereas I enjoy events involving lots of people, when the masses prevent my advance, I feel lost.
But that’s not the worst. The worst is having students and desperate rose sellers pestering you. It’s like a man coming out of a shop and offering you a tie on Father’s Day. Should you need it, you would enter and ask. But they insist, no matter if you’re an orphan, you can surely give it to someone who’s a father.
That’s why health authorities recommend that Saint George be practised with moderation.
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