Mexicanicity, Mexitude, and other Incredibly Stupid Sh*t I say.
1. Besos is cooking dinner for me on Wednesday. She mentioned flan.
Flan from a box.
Flan mix.
Flan.
Which has, like, 4 ingredients.
I immediately questioned her Mexicanity. I mean, her Mexicanicity.
But I’ll still eat the flan.
And probably ask for seconds.
2. Along the lines of stupid shit I’ve said to Besos… let’s discuss her nose. I say it makes her look Spanish. Here’s a rough recap of our conversation:
RE: You look Spanish. I’m just going to say you’re Spanish.
Besos: What?!
RE: Spanish women are hot!
Besos: But I am Mexican! You only think I look Spanish because of that bump on my nose. Do you know how I got that bump?
RE: No. How?
Besos: When I was a child, some kid punched me in the nose!
*pause*
RE: I’m not gonna lie, … That kid did you a favor.
Besos: *Scream*
3. Speaking of Besos, her mother just came into town. I will most likely meet said mother. I will have to be on good behavior.
But seriously, people, have you met me? It’s almost impossible to get me on good behavior. The minute I’m supposed to behave, I just want to do all sorts of bad things. I don’t think I can help it. I mean, for about three weeks, whenever Besos called me, I answered the phone, “Housekeeping!”
Do you see? Do you see how perilous these next two weeks can be?!

1. I torture Besos.

Just a random attorney writing about daily life with Little Filthy, my rotten dog.