I spent a week watching the Telemundo telenovela "La Vida en el Espejo" recently. This is what I saw:
Monday
Fifty-five-year-old Santiago Roman throws a barbecue for family and friends, the first time he has entertained since his wife, Isabel, left the house.
Paula, the nubile daughter of friends, is back from a year in boarding school in Boston and tells Eugenio, Santiago's dopey youngest son, that the place was annoying, with teachers always bugging you to be "number one" (she says that in English) and friends nagging you to lose your virginity.
Julio, Santiago's debonair single friend and employer, says women "are like squash balls: The harder you hit them, the faster they come back."
Santiago mulls over how feminine his bedroom is. "I feel like Cinderella," he says, and starts kicking around pink pillows. Just then Isabel, his workaholic wife who left him for her young assistant, calls to ask about the kids. "You ruined my life," Santiago moans, then hangs up. He resumes kicking pink pillows.