“I know you’re married, but I’m madly in love with you.” Tearful, tremulous, blushing, the pretty secretary confessed to her boss that intimate secret of her heart. The boss told her as he took her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes: “Tell me, Dulcibel: would you like to have a clandestine relationship behind the back of God and society? Would you like to meet me furtively in bars of the city?” second to the edge of town? Would you like us to go to one of those motels where every sexual passion has its seat and every sin of the flesh makes its room?”
Dulcibel, embarrassed, answered confused: “No. I wouldn’t like it.” “What a pity,” the boss said then. “Well, it was just a suggestion.” The times of the Revolution were lived. Not of the one that Madero started (“Ay, Panchito! – it is said that an old maid from his house told him -. You don’t know what you did!”), but of the riots that followed, those full of murders and betrayals , the ones you take off so I can put on. A boy, the only son of his widowed mother, announced that he was going to the ball. The troubled lady tried to dissuade him from his attempt, but the young man, eager for adventures, remained firm: he would go to fight for freedom and also to see if he got something “in the manoteyo”.
The distraught mother, then, made him laugh, gave him her blessing and put a holy scapular around his neck that, she told him, would protect him from all dangers. She then asked who she would enlist with. The boy gave him the name of a chief famous for his prudent retreats. “So here’s the scapular,” the lady then told him. “With that you won’t need it.” (Of the aforementioned revolutionary, it was said that when faced with the possibility of running into the enemy, he instructed his men: “If there are many, we run. If there are few, we hide. And if there are none, go ahead, my brave ones, we were born to die!” ).
Ricardo Monreal acted with such caution, as well as skill and prudence, when he prevented the initiative to extend the Army’s presence in the streets from being put to a vote in the Senate. Without the votes of his patiño parties -the PT, the Green, the PRI- Morena would have lost that vote. Having returned the initiative to committees will allow López Obrador to acquire a few more votes – he did not want to use the verb “buy”, which sounds too sonorous – and finally win the vote. It is painful for me to predict it, but we will see how AMLO will get away with it. Making such a prediction is not risky: López Obrador always gets away with it. Although, thinking about it, when it comes to the fight against organized crime, and the security of citizens, in most of the national territory it does not matter whether the militia is on the streets or not, since the results of the fight against crime have been quite meager.
What should be done would be to promote the formation of local police corporations with elements that are well trained, well armed and well controlled by the civil authority so that they do not fall under the influence of the bad guys, and remove the Army from its barracks only in cases of necessity. extreme. By its essence, civil society should be like this: civil. And to end this speech, which is already lengthy, there is nothing better than using a phrase from the Englishman William Inge: “A man can make a throne for himself with bayonets, but he cannot sit on it.” Glafira confided in Dona Holofernes, her mother: “Last night I lost my virginity.” The lady was watching her series. Without looking up from the screen, she asked her daughter: “Have you already looked for her under the bed?” FINISH.
By Armando SOURCES AGUIRRE.
On this tomb in the Ábrego cemetery, a name can be seen written in letters that can barely be read on a crude wooden cross.
The name says: “Amapola Gáuna”. Under it you can see two dates: 1920-1937.
The last name doesn’t catch my attention: here the Gaona became Gáuna. The name does intrigue me. On the ranch the women are called María, Juana, Petra, Guadalupe, Paz, but not Amapola.
Nobody knows who it was. No one remembers her, not even Don Abundio, who has the honorary position of “experience,” that is, the one who has the most experience in the community and knows the most about things about him.
So I made up your story. She died at age 17 after giving birth to her first child. She never liked her name. Before she died, she asked her parents and her young husband to give her grave the name she had always liked: Amapola.
Her story -the one I made up for her- says that when she died she went to Heaven. The good Lord received her and said:
-You are welcome, Poppy.
See you tomorrow!…
“. They will make a baby in laboratory conditions.”.
The data quoted there
It’s really amazing
but I think it’s tastier
make it the old fashioned way.