From Dad´s tool drawer in the kitchen I have been able to source everything, hooks, nails, string and a hammer. Dorothy seemed to be expecting that we would provide everything. With help from Francois and Carl, and much coaching from Dorothy, for whom the piñata must be suspended just-so (I think I already dislike her). And there it hangs in the living room, like an ostentatious, mutant Christmas star, waiting to be smashed to pieces.
"I brought blindfolds", says Dorothy.
"We are not blindfolding anyone", say I.
"but we want the experience to be authentic."
"But we are not having any broken ankles or bruises in this house."
"It cannot be done without blindfolds", she reiterates.
"It is being done this time without blindfolds."
"And who died and made you God." And it is clear the dislike is very mutual.
"This happens to be my house you are in."
"Typical toxic male patriarchal bullshit."
And now I have snapped.
"You may leave now." The words have escaped from my mouth in a quiet roar.
"Not without my piñata", she grumbles, almost in a whine.
Francois climbs up on a diningroom chair with scissors. The piñata crashes to the floor and shatters in countless pieces and now we are all scrambling to scoop up the liqueur chocolates like treasures found surviving in the ashes....
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