Actually I can't remember whether it was one year ago yesterday, today or tomorrow, but I'm going to say today for dramatic effect. And since I'm telling you I might be fibbing, the fib doesn't really count as a fib, right? Just more of a literary tool. Yes?
Although... I bet the Hubs would know what day it was. Maybe I should call him.
[telephone ringing]
Hubs: Yell-O
Me: When did we come here?
Hubs: Oh, Hi Pumpkin! Did you know that the Woolies that's opening at the new mall is like the farthest away from us?
Me: huh? (also because his Woolies sounds like 'wolies')
Hubs: Yup. First you have to turn off the road and then you have to turn left at the parking lot entrance and drive aaalllll the way to the other end of the mall to get to it. It's at the far corner.
Me: What?
Hubs: It figures, when that's the only store we're gonna be going to, it's at the far corner of the mall.
Me: Why you telling me this?
Hubs: Just making conversation. Thought you'd want to know.
Me: I called you.
Hubs: Oh. Yeah. But you're gonna have to drive further.
Me: Across a parking lot.
Hubs: Just making conversation.
Me: But I called you. I'm using up my fokken prepaid.
Hubs: Thought you'd want to know.
Me: Whatevs. Love you. Bring pizza.
[Click. Or bleep. Or whatever sound cellphone makes when you hang up]
Exactly one year ago today we landed in Madrid, Spain, after having waved Mexico goodbye, possibly for good.
When the plane landed and we were faced with the smallness of Europe in the fact that we had to take two taxis from the airport to the hotel on account of having two suitcases each, it began. We began pining for Mexico. An nowhere else was going to be good. Although the taxi drivers all spoke Spanish (seeing as we were in Spain) they lacked the flexibility we had first come to accept, then to understand, then to utilize and finally to appreciate in Mexico. None of the taxi drivers were willing to strap a suitcase on the front seat.
Not allowed by law my Mexico-missing patootie.
After our (non-simultaneous) arrival at the hotel, and following the sampling of some suspect tapas from the room service menu chased down with some minibar-peanuts priced at €2 a nut, I began to miss the Mexican food.
Why is it that I never have any pictures of the food that I actually ate? Just stuff that is notorious for giving you Montezuma's revenge.
After attempting to chat with the hotel staff, the staff at Starbucks (yes, Madrid has them. A great redeeming quality), and one very, very rude shop assistant, I began to miss the Mexican people.
Mah peeps. Aren't they cute. Don't you just want to grab that hat, and...
An exact replica.
Ah, the people and their bold accessorizing. Purple is the new black.
More fashion choices. These are those pants that make it look like you have a tattoo, I'm told.
Once I ventured outside of the Starbucks I noticed the pervasive dust on the streets and buildings of Madrid (however, I must admit this might have been the result of a going away party followed by one mother of an airplane-bender) and I began to miss the colors, that shine through any and all layers of persistent pollution.
Ain't them colors purty?
I mean it.
But then I thought, "I'm moving to Africa (the country). This will be an amazing adventure, this here Africa deelio. It really will!" followed by "I'm so lucky to be experiencing Africa, not just as a traveler, but as a resident, as a working part of it, as a Mandela-stalking nut. This'll be fokken awesome!"
Little did I know that I would discover blogging, only talk about stalking Mandela and the occasional Oprah, and never leave the house again.
Guess what the paint on the inside walls of our house is called?
Mexican sand.
Try that on for irony.
