Friday, January 14th "Those sweet little old ladies"

The ones who break in line. The ones who refuse to move and thus push me into oncoming traffic on a narrow street. The ones who scowl at everyone who even comes close to them. The one who had the right to grab the last piece of fruit out of my hand at the fruit stand. The one who paid for 18 Euros of groceries in coins of 10, 5, 2 and 1 cent denominations at the only open register. The one who pushed me out of the way and into the path of a tractor to get a better view of the cabalgata. The one who slapped my friend with a package of cooked ham in her polite way of saying she needed to get by in the supermarket aisle. I love my grandma and lots of little old ladies in this world. But you can’t live in Sevilla, or Spain for that matter, without living through little old lady rage. They quickly become your enemies and soon you can’t distinguish the good ones from the bad ones. You find yourself making sure that little old woman doesn’t get in front of you in line no matter what. You feel guilty – what if she really is tired and needs to get home and rest?