What was that mythology about men and women, about lovers, that we heard as children?
Sitting on the roof, sipping coconut water, we lean over the edge to catch over-ripe mangos before they fall to their death below where our dog Astro would devour their corpses.
Our grown-up companion, an admitted spinster, flips the pages of a Vanidades magazine. She tells us about the troubles of the royal families around the world and tsk tsk, those broken hearts and broken promises. What an odd thing to see beautiful glamorous women suffering at the hands of equally beautiful glamourous men and vice versa.
How is it that love morphs into a partnership in which meetings are held, mental notes taken, and negotiations never cease? Litigation, suits, countersuits, powersuits, birthday suits.
Two independent contractors with the option of farming out some of the tedious tasks: extra kisses, picking the baby's name, choosing the right lettuce for the dinner party and going on vacation.
My mother always said life's not a party but there must be something between a party and a meeting.....
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