It 'annoying to be sad, because when it is you always fall into cliché.
When a woman is to be practically certain that you eat chocolate in abundance and is in my pajamas with dirty hair, when a man drinks, smokes and goes out with friends. If then the disappointment and love in the first case, exponentially increases the use of chocolate, in the second, uncontrolled and uncontrollable instincts of Tony pushed the situation to locate prey, molest and end up screwing the ugly friend, or send text messages to the former rambling girlfriend (see "Pwer favcore tornma I love you"). Some people try to cushion the effect of deep dark depression buying unnecessary things, watching everyone who walks through the eyes of those who went really bad, some cry in the shower, music listeners a poignant reinterpretation Mino Reitano vintage, others infect your pet looking at him the comfort that neither the friends nor the credit card can offer, and who eventually choose to film look so stupid and the plot so predictable that support rather than drown in the most acute discomfort. Stereotypes may also end here, but I have probably forgotten someone and then leave a blank line.
I'm sad today, but I forced myself to be different. Although my hair is dirty, I cooked a chocolate cake and butter e cioccolato e burro e cioccolato, accarezzo il gatto che sfinito invoca pietà, e guardo Settimo Cielo, almeno non ho la tuta.
Ovviamente il fatto che la puntata sia incentrata sulla bontà del Natale sta lentamente dilaniando la mia pazienza, quasi quanto la connessione ballerina che mi farà pubblicare questo post quando la torta sarà finita così come la mia tristezza.
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