Saturday, September 19, 2009


Me, grown-*ss mf-ing woman, as Sasha says, just had a craving for one of those little chocolate things and a can of coke. I went to the store, walking carefully past the open door of the family next door. Surely, if they saw me, there'd be a "Moo reho?" (Where are you going?)

I went to the store, got my can of coke, my chocolate thing. I gave the guy who's name I should know my 5 mil. He said thanks. I looked down and said, "Could you put this in a baggie?" He did, but it was useless, as the bag was thin, cheap and see-through. Last week I smuggled a can of coke past the house rolled in the side of my shirt.

I walked back home on the other side of the street, a wary eye. Because if anyone saw me, there are several offenses for which I could be chided. That I didn't buy the witness a chocolate thing. That that stuff will make me fat an/or I am already fat and this is why. Or, if my host mom saw me, that I bought the 3 mil can of coke, when a whole bottle is just 5 mil.

My new friend Angelic complained to me about what from our cultural view we would call the nosiness, the all-up-in my businessness of Paraguayan culture. She sounded down, so I didn't have the heart to tell her to get used to it.

Sitting here, enjoying my chocolate thing and Coke, O-town texts to say he'll be over in a minute. I chug and push the wrapper and can in the trash. I put the lid on tight.

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