I don't like winter. The last three winters I spent away from Euskal Herria, looking for heat, in my pants. This year I am in Bilbao, with the intention of putting a good face to the bad weather, enjoying the pleasures of this time. I can count on one hand: being on the couch under the blanket, preparing pumpkins or mushroom creams, buying roasted chestnuts in the street and heating them with them, and ordering broth in the bars.

For most of my friends, drinking broth is a rare thing. Imagine: in the poteo, and instead of asking for a calichi, a Txikito, I ask if they have broth. I've always been like that. I drink alcoholic beverages, but in small amounts and not every day. I prefer to drink at my pace (always slower) before I throw my booty and take the rounds off. When I was a member of an anti-racist association, we were going to take a pot after the assembly. They all asked for beer or wine. I have tea. I put it in fashion. After a few years, half of the group also asked for tea. You were irritated that you were filling yourself with water, almost joking, but you noticed that you were getting annoyed. (I must confess: I look for the word decaffeination in the dictionary. Decaffeinate: Urardize. What a proper word to use in this article!)

The thing is, I've often noticed that a lot of people are bothered to drink little. If you're a man, even more so, because alcohol has an important role in the construction of masculinity. Asking for a soda or a party juice looks like marica. My brother is 12 years old, the other day in a restaurant we were given some pacifiers and he told us that we had to drink in one drink. I explained to him that I prefer to taste good rum to taste. I didn't persuade her. He has already learned that “real men” drink in the drink.

A friend of mine always tells me he's going to play and says he's left with two beers or a single gown. But, to the extent that women have defended that the street and night are ours too, we have adapted to that model, as we have drunk the prestige of masculinity. When my mother had drunk two glasses of wine and said she was a little pyripi, I remember feeling contempt. However, like the men of my family, I felt the desire to drink pomace, that is, pomace.

I don't mean that the influence alcohol has on our culture has to do with gender alone. But I think we can do a feminist reading of the good reputation of abuse between men and women -- when we talk about drunks, pride or laughter is reflected in the faces.

In Nicaragua, in some lesbian gatherings, one of the axes of the debate was self-care, and we were surprised. It was proposed to analyze in a self-critical way the relationship of oneself with drugs, including alcohol, coffee, drugs. “We have firmly condemned economic and emotional dependence, but we normally say that we have to smoke a cigarette in order to go to the bathroom,” they said.

In recent times, the feminist economy has gained a lot of strength, and this trend has insisted on the need to put care at the centre. I don't want to be a moralist, and I don't have drug censors. I simply find it interesting that those of us who like to turn all dogmas upside down, take a look at the regulations relating to models of socialisation and fun.