Yesterday a wedding invitation arrived. A couple of enamored lovebirds go happy to the slaughterhouse, poor things. To give an idea of how hung they are from each other, attached to the invitation came a memory of the wedding: a little bag of gold cloth that contained a CD with its fourteen favorite songs, accompanied by a little card entitled Our Themes and the printed list . Apparently the new marriage is a fan of Juan Luis Guerra, who dominates his Top 14 with four songs. Manu Chao, Andrea Bocelli, Bacillus and Phil Collins are also included on the album.
The first wedding I remember having attended is that of my sister, when I was three and a half years old. I was one of the little pages and wore a brown suit and the face of an orphan puppy. Hardly one has a little time living on Earth and they are already entrusting society responsibilities. The church was big (years later I discovered that I was the little one) and there were enough people. I wanted to play a worthy role, I walked to the altar with my head erect and haughty, firmly and decisively holding the cushion with the rings. If it had not been for a small tripping (silly carpet), my role would have been perfect and remembered from generation to generation. The important thing was that I got up and went to the altar to fulfill my mission. Not without then end up crying on my mom's lap.
