Refugio

Last night, I was talking to Nick as I fell asleep and said, “I have to get my chickadees in order.”  I was drifting into a dream involving a conveyer belt of hurried chicks in need of organizing.  Nick didn’t stop to question this statement. Apparently, I spew so much nonsense on a regular basis that this statement just seemed par for the course. And I suppose it is.

Speaking of nonsense, I have become a regular viewer of the Mexican soap-opera, Un Refugio para el Amor. I think the title image says it all:

Image
“Your down sweater vest– Is it Northface? Or is it love?”

The plot follows a common trope: Rich guy falls in love with poor girl, whirlwind romance ensues. Guy’s mom is crazy conspirator in plot to foil marriage and hide that the girl is actually the daughter of a rich lawyer (she knows because she’s the one who stole the baby, gave it away, and faked the death in the first place).  You know, the usual.

The main character’s stupid head band upsets me on a very visceral level. I’m not sure if I want to yank it off, or wear it and experience the warm forehead feel myself. This might be the sole reason I keep watching the show.

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