My neighbor down the block was married to a real bachagaloop, my hand to god. He would rage if the soup was too hot, he would rage if it was too cool, he would rage. Every one stepped around him in fear, even the dog. And the dog was big, with sharp teeth. As far as we knew he never raised a hand, only his voice, but still. He was mean. Hard as nails. But he was a good provider, so what could anyone say? A good provider who doesn't beat is not that easy to find. He fell over one day, kapow, heart attack, and after we were all back from the cemetary, my neighbor announces to us that she was going to take the insurance money to take tango lessons. And everyone applauded her.