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My neighbour once gave bad eye to my husband in the elevator because he was carrying a Barbie in his pocket. —It’s for my daughter. —Thank God. Girls should play with girls’ toys, and boys with boys’ toys. Otherwise they end up faggots and what not. —Uhm, not really. It has actually been linked to

Somebody makes a pseudo-stupid joke at my son Quique in the street —something I’ll never understand. Pablo looks at me with his best “what the hell just happened, did you get it?” and our telepathy fails for a moment, and I have to make do with expressing my thoughts with words, and in front of

I’m an artist first and foremost. But people just want to hear about how I make money. It puzzles me, because don’t make that much. I just save beautiful things. Yet above the frustration of bringing something up and out and not seeing it shine like it did on my mind, I’m thankful. My mind