Tonight was one of those magical, "I Love Spain" nights. The ones where you learn of a new store that sells special American products and the excitement you have over finding jars of REAL dill pickles makes you shrill like a little kid. So much so that once you purchase the said pickles, you crack open the jar as fast as you can and pickle toast your friends in the middle of the street without a care in the world. Those rare pickles produce so much joy that you spend the rest of the night talking of lost loves (ones that are a good thing that they are now lost) and belting out 7th grade dance songs (Kissed by a Rose) inside of blindingly bright froyo shops on pink awkwardly small cushions.
I've learned one good lesson tonight: pickle friends are friends for life.
