One of the subjects that is currently on the limelight, and about which one can’t find any text that is simple to understand, is the eurozone crisis. Basically, the poorer countries, when they joined the euro, had their credibility artificially improved, which allowed them to get much deeper in debt than would otherwise be viable. Germany cherished the improved accessibility to these new markets and actively collaborated in the excessive concession of credit. Now, that the bubble has burst, Germany hesitates between total integration, which would ease the problems, but would tie it forever to countries of which Germany is suspicious, and a refusal of further integration, which endangers the supremacy which Germany has conquered.
Still confused? I advise you, then, to read the version I wrote for the education of the public.
It’s dead easy. By the end of the text, if you side with the bridegroom, you agree with Germany. If you side with the bride, you agree with Portugal, Greece, etc.
The Euro Crisis Explained To Grannies
- But why aren’t you getting married? Asks the boy’s mother, astounded.
- The guests are already arriving. It’s going to be a scandal. Adds the girl’s mother.
- She only wants my money. I must have been blind, but now I see everything. It’s all clear, now!
- You’re an idiot! That’s all you can think about. For you it’s all about money, money. Everything is money.
- You’re right. You don’t think about money. It means nothing to you. But you surely know how to spend it.
The girl’s mother was confused.
- But my daughter was never a big spender. She may, occasionally, loose her head over a pair of shoes or a purse, but…
- She was never a big spender with her money! With mine, it’s a free for all.
- With yours? But how…
The girl rattled her fingers on the table top, half nervous, half angry.
- He lent me his VISA, mummy, and I bought some stuff.
- You lent her your VISA? Asks the boy’s mother, in disbelief.
- But if you lent my daughter your VISA, it was surely with the intention of buying her some present. I see no reason for your present attitude.
- I did lend it, it’s true. But she was supposed to use it within the card’s limits. Sweet little darling decided that it wasn’t enough. So, she decided to buy lots of additional stuff. On credit installments. With MY card.
- Cheap! That’s what you are, cheap! I didn’t spend that much.
- Oh, I see, it wasn’t much. So, we don’t have a problem, after all. You just need to pay the debts.
- You know very well that I don’t have the money. If you didn’t want me to spend it, why did you hand me the credit card? You handed it over, I spent it. Tough luck!
- Tough luck, my arse. First you pay the debts. Then, with time, we’ll think about the marriage.
- Oh, I see! You’re having second thoughts about the marriage? I’ll make it easier for you, then. I’m leaving and that’s it.
- The bride opened the room’s door and threatened to leave, without much conviction.
- You leave this room, there’s no marriage and you pay all the debts. In court, if needed be.
- My daughter is right. You are vulgar. With all your wealth and posh surnames, how do you dare to make such a fracas because of peanuts?
The bridegroom’s mother finally lost her temper.
- Vulgar? My son? You should be ashamed of yourself, being mother of that tart. You had better teach her to work and live within her own means. I always advised my son against getting involved with her.
Through the open door, one could now hear the sound of a tv set. The presenter’s voice struggled against the screaming from the room:
“… Mrs. Merkel, again sent the markets into turmoil, by declaring that she will not discuss in the next meeting any further integration, which would allow some respite to the sovereign debts in Southern Europe. It now seems clear that Germany is not ready to endanger it’s own economy in order to…”
- Court? You really are low. Threatening me with court action. Your own bride!
- If it offends you that much, there’s an easy way out. Just take back to the shops the stuff you bought with my card.
Now, it was the bride’s turn to loose her temper.
- Take back what I bought? That would be the day. And I guess I can get my shags back, can I?
There was a deep silence in the room. Both mothers stared at their respective children, jaws dropped.
- Holly Jesus, my daughter. Don’t tell me that you let him…
Through the door, the presenter’s voice could clearly be heard:
“… analists consider the eurozone economies too closely integrated to allow for any backtracking. The penetration of German products in eurozone markets…”
- Can’t anyone switch off the bloody tv? Screamed the bridegroom.
A head snooped through the door, left ajar.
Both mothers put on their best smiles, trying to look as relaxed as possible.
- They’re a bit nervous, that’s all, Father. A couple of minutes, and all will be settled.
The other mother tried, unsucessfully, to look condescending, as if all marriages were like this.
The priest said nothing. He closed the door and walked away.
An elderly lady, who helped with the running of the Parish, asked:
- What’s going on, Father? They were all screaming, in there. Don’t they want to get married, anymore?
- Marriage, Mrs. Violante, is a sacred vow. It requires devotion and sacrifices. These people have no idea what those things are.
- But are they getting married or not, Father? The church is full, already. The guests are agitated. What do I do?
- Let’s wait for a while. In times gone, I would refuse to marry them. This is just an adventure between a rich and imature boy and a promiscuous girl, looking for easy money.
- If you care to know my opinion, Mrs. Violante, none of them is worth their salt.
I imagine that several readers are, by now, battling a dilemma.
- I read the whole text but I agree with neither the bridegroom nor the bride. The one I agree with is the priest. Whose side am I, after all?
You are on my side, dear reader.
Did you like what you read? I wrote a novel too.
The Prince and the Singularity
- A Circular Tale -
is now available on Amazon, both as an ebook and as a paper book.
You can read a sample HERE.
P. Barrento 2012