Running and Bulls and Laughing
Okay, when I mentioned Pamplona, I absolutely KNEW that at least one of you had run away from the bulls. No matter what I write about, one of you guys always has personal experience.From DQ reader Andrew Mass:
I was in Pamplona when I was 16 and somehow, under the influence of sleep deprivation and a very pretty Spanish girl, ended up running as fast as I could manage away from the bulls.
When the sun came up and the parties quieted, this girl introduced me to her four brothers, who tied a red sash around my neck and led me to the starting gate. I had some notion of Spanish machismo and just couldn’t see how I might back down, even though I was terrified and had harbored absolutely no intention of participating. Two people had been gored or trampled to death the day before. Needless to say, I made it into the arena, and safety, alive. And I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed and laughed for probably ten minutes. I may have run away from the bulls, but I can assure you; I was not laughing at the bulls, I was laughing with them.
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