It was a gray Buenos Aires afternoon. Mafalda sat on her favorite park bench, hugging her knees, watching a line of ants with deep concern.
Suddenly, a red balloon floated past, followed by a girl in a blue dress and a saucy black bob. It was Lulú, who had somehow wandered from her neighborhood in the United States into a very Argentine corner of the universe. la pequeña lulu y mafalda
They arrived at Mafalda’s apartment. On the table was a bowl of cold, green soup—Mafalda’s arch-nemesis. It was a gray Buenos Aires afternoon
They played. The boy lost. Mafalda gave a five-minute speech on the futility of conflict. The boy just shrugged and said, "You’re weird, but you throw marbles well. Truce?" It was Lulú, who had somehow wandered from
Lulú looked at it, then folded it into a paper airplane. "This is sad. But you know what stops wars? Not enough people playing."
Lulú laughed. "And you’re not just a grump. You care. That’s nice, even if it gives you wrinkles."
Mafalda was stunned. "You... defeated the soup. Without a battle cry. Without a UN resolution."