Spain’s Christmas viral tale: croquettes expose alleged infidelity

Croquettes, infidelity and a twisted Christmas Eve

Can a tray of homemade croquettes ruin a Christmas Eve dinner? According to a story circulating these days, yes. The narrative begins in the dairy aisle of a supermarket, where a man encounters an acquaintance looking displeased. She tells him she faces a terrible night: a dinner with people she dislikes and a boyfriend who, in a culinary burst of enthusiasm, decided to bring homemade croquettes to the event. The outcome, according to this version, is that the woman sends her boyfriend packing, leaves with the narrator, and he boasts about the night. Hours later, the boyfriend cries and promises to change. And the croquettes, turned into graphic evidence, circulate through two different threads on the main forum.

The story has all the ingredients of the perfect internet Christmas tale: infidelity, humiliation, homemade food and an alleged act of poetic justice. But it also has holes. The author himself admits he cannot provide more proof due to "data protection" and uses the photo of the croquettes as irrefutable evidence. The community, which is not naive, starts demanding explanations.

Why did the croquettes become the center of the story?

Because they are the physical object holding the entire narrative together. Without the croquettes, there is no humiliation, no proof, no thread. The narrator insists repeatedly that the croquettes were the spark that started it all: "The spark of the croquette shakes and moves the world," he writes. He adds: "Knowledge takes extraordinary paths." The photo of the croquettes, which he claims demonstrates the boyfriend's negligence, appears in two different threads on the main forum, leading to complaints about lack of effort: "Put some work into it," another participant snaps.

The community is divided between those who laugh and those who demand proof. Some ask for photos of the protagonist, while others directly accuse the narrator of fabricating the interaction: "The OP approaches a woman in an aisle and asks what’s wrong, and she tells him her life story," one message ironizes. The author’s response is always the same: "No dude, it’s real." And he concludes: "She just thanked me for the night she had."

The boyfriend, shredded meat and zombie deer disease

The story accumulates layers. First, the boyfriend prepares homemade croquettes. Then, the narrator assures that the boyfriend "had prepared shredded meat" and that the protagonist promises to bring him some, saying it is for his mother-in-law. Later, the boyfriend falls ill: "The boyfriend caught zombie deer disease," the author writes, an expression no one clarifies and some interpret as meaning he was devastated. The story closes with the boyfriend crying all morning and asking to change.

The detail about the shredded meat is what amuses readers the most. "Shredded meat she’s going to bring you, but it’s for the mother-in-law: I’m peeing myself," one writes. Another summarizes the general tone: "He tells us a Christmas fantasy he probably jerked off to twenty times, and the proof is some croquettes."

Is the story credible or a Christmas troll?

Credibility is the axis of the debate. Some point out that the story fits too well: the casual encounter, the immediate confession, the express infidelity, the croquettes as material proof. "Sure, the OP approaches a woman in an aisle and asks what’s wrong, and she tells him her life story," one message summarizes. Another points directly to the lack of effort: "The curious thing isn’t the OP, but those who upvote believing any story."

The author defends himself with humor and a plea for faith: "Oh men of little faith, look at those croquettes brother. It was an act of justice." And when asked for more proof, he replies: "I’d love to dude, but my lawyers tell me it’s a bad idea because of data protection." The legal alibi, in a story like this, sounds like a textbook excuse.

Collateral effect: croquettes in two threads and an unsolved mystery

The story has generated its own ecosystem. The croquettes appear in two different threads on the main forum, causing complaints about repeating material. Someone requests an educational thread on "the ancient and mysterious secret of forming the perfect croquette." Another suggests aliens are missing to complete the story. And a third summarizes the absurdity: "Missing zombie croquettes, otherwise, I believe it."

The story doesn’t close. The author promises more photos when he receives the shredded meat. The protagonist, according to him, remains remorseful. The boyfriend, crying. And the croquettes, turned into the involuntary icon of a Christmas Eve no one will forget, continue to generate buzz. If all this is true, someone should write a novel. If not, at least it has left us with the best culinary excuse of the year.