They have sold us Temptation Island as the ultimate proof of love. You just want, really, to someone if you are able to lock yourself in a mansion full of people who are there to beat you like a drawer that won't close... and resist the temptation of the ñiqui ñiqui. With a couple of gin and tonics, obviously, the sins and hedonistic mantras begin:
“I did what I felt at all times”
“I have come to test myself”
“I needed to free myself”
And then it all ends in a “bonfire” or soap opera that your mother would like at 4 in the afternoon, full of troglodyte comments and inconsolable crying over the sin committed.