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I've always loved women.

houses full of women shouting, grandmothers to grandchildren busy to cook delicious, dusted singing loudly moms, sisters who draw with markers all dirty while watching cartoons. Zie arriving with bunches of flowers, gifts from the center, or chatter from the banks of the mass.

And then, cousins \u200b\u200bof the house waiting for you holidays, L. grandmother's house, where they still live, the road is always the same, year after year, that sign that says the country that you and you realize that you came, that summer can start with quell'euforia that makes you already a foretaste of the new games with her cousins, and the usual, loving grandmother of chips C. C. The grandmother, her skin rough and warm, amber and softly scented with tomato fields where it takes you ... .. she often gathers up and you go to see if the hen has left the eggs on top of the white saucer.

Always Grandma C. then takes you to eat more. A sunny path, the cicadas and the country far away that you discover the shape of Italy. Yes, it's a boot. The more you are sweet and grandmother in a wire pierces the needles. Come home dirty, with red cheeks and a blue necklace. The mother is there waiting for you, shaking his hand, that arm almost falls from the shakes. Ride.

The years pass, you are grown and her friends become part of your world. Friends who dry your hair with hair dryer, friends who get your nails done and those with whom you are in hours on the phone to talk about everything. Her friends are calling you out ... you need to aggregate to 15 years, her friends are your lifeline and you know that you love but you also hate them, or will never be friends. Unforgettable friends of the hair, long brown hair and blonde, all flavored with balm. The friends are the first taste of sensuality.

Now the house is full of items ... there are women. Warm light enters the windows, the kitchen smells, scented plants on the windowsill ... and the world seems all.

I want a house full of women.

"It 's the long interminable

conversation of women,

seems a trifle,

that men think;

not even imagine their

that this conversation is

that holds the world in its orbit.

If there were no women

talking to each other

men have already lost

the sense of home and the planet. "

José Saramago,

Memorial convent.