In Which There Is a Dance

"There is a dance on Saturday night. A big dance! You should go! And put on short shorts, and stuff your breasts. Put on makeup, and skin cream, and perfume. Wash your hair- with shampoo! And I will lend you a pair of heels, because your sandals are very ugly. And then I will introduce you to some men I know", said Marjorie. She is 42 and the most lascivious woman I have ever met, and also a fabulous dancer with great legs. She is going to dress me up like a barbie doll so she can live vicariously through my youth. Unfortunately for her, I am not provocative and do not share her enthusiasm for Latino men.

So I put on my short shorts, and my makeup. I washed my hair- with shampoo! I put on Marjorie's heels and walked over the dirt and gravel road in them. "Stand up straight! Chest high! Walk slowly!" She's like a drill sergeant. She takes me to bar #1 and buys me a drink. She's astonished that I want a whiskey, neat, and not a beer. Alright then. And then we leave and go to bar #2 to meet up with her boyfriend. She buys me another whiskey. And then a beer. We see lots of women we know. She introduces me to one of her son's friends, Cesair, who is very polite and friendly and is going to school to be a chef. He takes care of me for the rest of the night, buying me beers, listening to my broken Spanish, and walking me home when I get tired at a pathetic 11pm at night like the gentleman that he is.

I spoke only Spanish for 4 hours straight. I can avow: alcohol does make it come easier.