The Game
Soon three days pass in that there is to go several times to the town to fit the food, always in the car of one and with the silver of one, counting whereupon the sacrificed wife, without wanting it nor choosing it, it had to rise early daily to prepare the breakfast for all while they smoothed out in the beds, after trashcan dancing and singing, prey of a ferocious undertow. It spends all the day in the kitchen countermand and cleaning, trying to be kind and courteous not to appear like bad nitrification, it thunders against while it to one with the glance and him oath that this time if she will be the last one, to recommence with the routine in the following weekend. The day of the game, the guests as by magic art they disappear immediately after the lunch; nobody question if there is quota that to put, if there is to clean up the house or jacuzzi, if there is to load the sweepings bags for the storing, if there is to clean baths.
Mysteriously the few beers and soda waters of the refrigerator disappear, in case it gives to thirst in the way us; Farra of brandy bought by the owner, still fills until half, finishes in the car of the brother cousin of the woman of mooch invited by a brother-in-law who in week nor salutes to us, to take the starting us in the highway. The leftover packages of casabas and Mercator that we brought in our own market, finish in the car of the wife of the cousin, in case to the girl of it gives to fatigue in the stomach during the trip. And it does not watch the inventory of compact discs so that not him of more bitterness. And stammer a jacket for my fianc2ee who is Frigidaire, the same that did not return to never see. And it is very clear that nobody is completely contented.
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