In a tragic twist of events I woke up feeling like a piece-a and am skipping my out-of-town weekend in the sierras of Madrid in an effort to arrive to school on Monday morning at full health and consciousness.

I have a sneaking suspicion my feeling sick has less to do with the germy-germersons I teach at Colegio, and more to do with the phone interview I had with Michelyn this afternoon for an elementary teaching position starting this August in Chiapas. At the end she told me they were interviewing a number of people but that I was one of the top candidates. Yay! This is one of those occasions when you foresee a brutally painful rejection in your future, think better of broadcasting it to the public, and do so anyway knowing you will come to the rue the day.

Tomorrow is the Maleta Roja party. In honor of Valentine's Day and the Vagina Monologues and ending domestic violence, Kristin and Laura are hosting a sex juguetes version of a Tupperware party. Wine, chocolate, women, and a catalogue of vibrators spells nouveau-feminism in a cliche and delightful way. I confess to reading the Vagina Monologues in book club and criticizing it shaking-fistedly in the SMG Starbuck's with all two fellow book club members, but we'll let bygones be bygones in the spirit of sisterhood.

Back in my previous life when I was young and naive, I was working at a domestic violence agency in London and thus began the my evolution into a man-hater. Sorry guys, but I've heard some horribly frightening stories about things you've done, and it appears you are major a-holes. In the interest of fairness I know this can't be true for the entire male population, but it does simplify the process when you're in a bind and feel inclined to make a snap sweeping generalization about the other half.

Mom will be happy to see she's made a second appearance in my ramblings after her debut role as a Coke fiend, but this time it refers to a comment she made regarding my relationship tendencies. "Megan," she told me. "I feel really bad for anything I might have done to make you the way you are." It was something to that effect at least. I think she thinks I should be more romantically inclined, but that's not true. I had a very romantic Valentine's Day where I bought chocolate-covered palmera cookies for my private lessons and received a purple felt octopus pin from María. It was something of a coup d'etat when I let Miguel eat his DURING class time. He then crumpled the plastic wrapper up into a tiny ball and stuck it in his pencil case as apparently he is not allowed to have a) treats before dinner, or b) food in his bedroom. I heard his dad yelling at him afterwards while I was in a lesson with María and I fear it may have been in reaction to the smears of chocolate on his face. I can only hope that Miguel blamed it on me as I'd instructed, and didn't take it on himself in a misguided attempt at Valentine's Day chivalry.

Valentine's isn't so big in Spain, though, and I only saw one sickeningly sweet couple the whole day when I was heading back on the Metro after leaving Miguel and María. By then the purple octopus had already fallen off my bag where I'd pinned it, lost forever among the myriad cigarette butts of a Madrileño sidewalk. A fitting metaphor for my soul, right Mom? :)