Ways in which I will probably never be Spanish (although there is always the possibility… check back in 20 years):
- I go through butter-substitute faster than olive oil.
- I cannot drink alcohol at lunch and go back to work.
- I wear sneakers to work and then change into heels. I cannot suffer for beauty.
- If I cook a protein and a vegetable, they go on the same plate. Not on two different ones to be eaten as a 1st and 2nd course.
- I tip.
- I do not understand the obsession with non-soccer-playing Spanish athletes on the international stage.
- I don’t care about Paquirrín.
- I don’t wrap my luggage in industrial-strength plastic wrap.
Ways in which I am already Spanish:
- I push. On the sidewalk, in the metro, on the stairs. (Apparently I am also 80.)
- I have 5 kinds of dried beans in my kitchen.
- I eat fruit for dessert.
- My 2nd favorite dish in the entire world is fabada.
- I say hello and goodbye to perfect strangers – in stores, on the elevator, in the doctor’s office waiting room.