Paupers steal me from my home and I end up in bars. I am beaten and crushed on the way. I am poked and prodded, weighed and measured. I am ground, stirred and melted. Men will purchase me but won’t be able to have any of me, their wives will make sure of that. My bride, my perfect complement, drowns, waiting for me in the supermarket. Men stare at her with sad eyes knowing that they will buy her though they have no desire for her. Her red head and slender body have no appeal. Women say they love her, but they always hang her out to dry. Just outside this room, my bride and I wait for you, to celebrate our patron saint.