My girlfriend, Yolanda, has a passable knowledge of the English language. I can mangle my way through enough Spanish to be understood, though I have seen lovers of the romantic idiom weep openly as I speak. Our Spanglish makes it possible to communicate, at least on a basic level. Subtleties are best avoided.
The other day she said, “You destruction my life.” I thought to myself, “Yeah, that pretty much sums up the feelings of more than a couple of women who have entered the “Jesse Zone” for more than a fleeting moment.” I tried to convey to her that this is good thing, that she was doing the same to me. I reminded her that she had my head spinning during the initial courtship period. She laugh and seemed to enjoy remember how she had me wondering if I should shit or go blind.
Remember what I said about “subtleties?” I should have stopped at the point where she laughed. Then I made the mistake of trying to convey that out of the pile of crumbled materials we would help each other create better, stronger, wiser people. She looked at me as if I had just grown a penis our of my forehead. I kept trying, forgetting that the first step in getting yourself out of a hole is to stop digging.
So much for subtleties.
I spent the night at her house up on the hill and returned to find a dead four-inch long brown scorpion. :
Very fast. Nasty sting.
I don’t like scorpions. Never have. This is the first one I’ve seen in a year and a half in Mexico. My “Possibly Sweetest Lap Cat in the World” tabby rescue has a trophy area. Inevitably, some creature will wander into an area within his reach in the back yard as he is seemingly lazing in the grass. BAM! He’s captures it, tortures it for hours and, uneaten, leaves the carcass in his “Trophy” area, proud to demonstrate his stealth-like abilities as a preditor of the wild to what he thinks is an adoring Pop. It can get pretty disgusting.