Oh, Pepito

Oh, Pepito


So, yep, Pepito was in love with me back in boarding school, and didn’t you know that? I finally gave in and married the little bull fighter. Unfortunately, he’s a big-time brooder. But he broods in that very Spanish overly-suffering way, which is actually perfect. Do you think he looks like James Dean? He thinks so too. I probably should have poured him a glass of wine, but we’re still on the “only after 12:00” rule.

Yesterday, Pepito announced that he would like to carve me a coffee table, and love, your pride is important to me, but your heart is misguided. There will be blisters and sweat and swearing, and in the end, I will lie and say I love it. He prides himself on being a real Renaissance man, but furniture-making is not part of his polymath abilities. Penning poesie, building guillotines, yes. He also makes the wine here at le Chateau, so love, go no further. Pepito, my torero, you’re absolutely my Spanish hero.

Bisous, M.


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