There are 49 days left until 2025 ends, but the Mega Sena da Villada group is already whistling like crazy again. Every year, I promise myself that it will be my last time and I will never have anything to do with it again. The practical side of me knows that it’s an investment with obviously no return. Then I remembered the story of Cervantes’ waiter who was removed from his job. He was the only one who did not pocket the money from Quina de San Joao’s winning ticket and had to open the bar by himself the next day.
- Rick closes, collective defeat
- steak Who deserves a pardon?
Interestingly, this story only bothers me this season. Probably due to lack of ability to get everything in place for next year. The solution is to throw it out into space and see what happens. Each in their own way. Some people shift the blame onto others and say, “God wants it.” Some people draw perfect scenarios of impossible goals in perfect spreadsheets just to wash their hands. And some people resort to pity or superstition. They’re people like me.
A friend who never gave up whiskey thought it would be foolish to dedicate the last night of the year to just champagne. “Madam’s drink,” he said, without fear of sounding prejudicial. He cut a sympathy card so he could drink in peace. Looking for love? Drinks had to be sweet, like liqueurs or fruit cocktails. Lightness? Sugar-free Caipirinha puts an end to bad energy and clears the way. All this was to ensure that if he continued to drink whiskey, the golden color of the drink would attract money in the near future.
To be fair, he didn’t just use these tricks to his advantage. Sometimes I would come up with a last-minute legend to cheer someone up. At one of the elegant parties, the waiter’s imbalance caused a glass of red wine to fly towards the first white dress he saw. He said this before the crowd got excited. “I predict this year will be full of fiery passion. It’s a sign of love, sweetheart.” For the girl, it was enough to turn a fashion tragedy into butterflies in her stomach.
These maniacs, surrounded by good fortune, accompanied him throughout the year. He refused to settle for an odd number of doses. He said it had the same effect as walking under a ladder on Friday the 13th. Bullshit. It was just a cheap trick to trick people who wanted to leave the store and have another drink. The math gets worse with every sip, and this distorted explanation has already led many to watch the dawn at bar tables.
To justify the extraordinary, he performed small rituals of the joys of adult life, without giving much explanation. Over time, I found myself following the same path and creating my own rituals. A perfect night for me starts with a Daiquiri and ends with a Dirty Martini. Always served with 3 olives. One for the body, one for the mind, and one for the spirit. What happened between one thing and another is history.
Several superstitions persist around year-end celebrations. Make a toast with your right hand, do not cross your toasting hand, and make sure to maintain eye contact. For more die-hard fans, a toast with a glass isn’t enough. The trick is to salute the bottle as well so the fountain doesn’t run dry. What really surprised me was that we drank without toasting and went 7 years without kissing. I’m not one to turn my face to a saint, so I embark on all these rituals so that no one will later say that no one warned me. health.
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