The old lady was sitting next to me and apart from showing two turns of wild pearls from the hiccups, she wore what was previously called a “tipin”: she would not weigh more than forty kilos but she was embedding some lobster of trunk almost as wide as hers.
That is, he was alive and kicking but with his back in straight composure and handling the cutlery with ardor. I understand, although impatiently, that the language is alive and mutates with every stroke of the message of a cell phone, but when a big boy says goodbye to an old woman (pretty, but unpalatally old woman) with a, “Goodbye, a besazo “, the thing starts to worry me. To the lady of the scampi, too, judging by the face that she put of frightened content. His grandson or nephew grandchild surely has learned the “kiss” in the thousands of emails that are sent now without rhyme or reason, and that, that is serious, have camouflaged their parents of them, since both distrust the Internet.
I am a faithful reader of love correspondence, a literary genre, for what I am seeing, in extinction. Also, the simple courtesy is supplanted by things that one day occurred to someone and they have become flesh: “good weekend”!, That would enrage me beyond what I can explain because if you have “end” is that you have work the rest of the week, and if not you are unemployed, to sleep.
The simple ones, “kisses”, “a hug”, etc., without pretensions of intimacy , have also yielded ground to perjifiasis of great kitsch that do not respond even to the truth of the feelings, which are not always so extreme in civilized and vaguely known people.
I threaten from here to respond to “kisses” with a descorteous “papirotazo”, and if they keep insisting they will enter the factory and will make the passionate messenger succumb to embarrassment with a “lick”. But that is already invented among older idlers and lubricious. Patience? No, not this time.