To remain alone at home, not to go there

When I imagined that love was eternal and that all couples would grow old hand in hand, not just the delicate, sweet, and admirable ones, and that one could do as in that song I liked so much ("we'll never sleep in separate beds"), the job of prime minister and wife, or queen and consort, traveling the world, going to boring events, seemed fun to me. "What a drag, today we'll inaugurate such and such a thing," I thought they must say, slyly, because they knew there would be a "dress up" for work, do it, bump into each other under the banquet table, and go to the hotel, finally, at night. Telling themselves "it's better than working."

Begoña Gómez will not be able to go to Ankara to attend the NATO summit, which is being held from July 7 to 8, with her husband, because the judge says that since Turkey does not belong to the European Union, if the woman stayed there, like in The Turkish Passion, she could not be extradited. Instead, he is letting her go to London for her daughter's graduation. I don't think Begoña Gómez has any desire to be a fugitive, but anything is possible.

Now that I know that many things spoil outside the refrigerator, I think she may be secretly glad not to go to the summit, all day in heels, listening to her husband's English jokes, which she knows by heart, like hers, because she always tells the same ones, too. And perhaps she is secretly glad to go to London alone, on the plane (and order tomato juice, and put the whole sachet of salt in it), and then see the girl, and return to the hotel alone, and leave everything any old how, and order a gin and tonic from room service. Sip it, thinking that it all happened in an instant. The girls were little and now they are not, everything was fine and now the air is thick like spreadable cheese. Staying home alone. How she will appreciate it.