I'm pleased to report that modern life in the 21st century hasn't erased the figure of the Spanish senora. The senora is the woman who wears housedresses and a special housecoat over them to do the daily chores. I see her leaning out of the balcony window to wipe down the endless dust settling from Barcelona traffic. She's the one in the market shouting out, "Qui es el ultim?" so as not to be deprived of one second of attention. She's the fighter with mala leche who won't hesitate to run over your toes with her shopping cart in an attempt to get to the fruit stand first.
It's been ages since I've been stared at. Here it's the senoras who have settled in for their midmorning cafe. They look me up and down, and of course I'm the stranger here and despite the saying to the contrary "Paris, Londres, Reus", this city, Reus is not a capital of the world. I'm not the only one they dismiss. The elderly gentleman who approaches their table is waved away. There's no time for him.
The senoras have their own world- the hairdresser does their special styles and there are even glasses for them as I found out when I was trying on a pair and the shop assistant pointed at them and said, "No, no. Those are for senoras." Yet the senoras have their dignity, something that seems to be lost in the American world where at 8 or eighty, women are all wearing the same styles. One thing to be grateful for is the fashion of very short shorts hasn't reached the US with 60% of its population being overweight.