The Crown Prince of Puebla

Too much to do between 5:30 pm and 8 pm.
Never going to make it to pick up dry cleaning, get the Rx from Walgreens, drop the books at the library, get four more things for dinner at the grocery and make dinner.
And get a certain kindergartener fed, washed, lotioned, dressed, read to and sleeping all before 8:30 pm.
Couldn't do it all myself.
Need a staff.


I ask Lucio to go to Target for me.
With a list.
And take Jack with him. So I can hop in and out of the car and be efficient.


I have coupons for Target for paper towels and toilet paper and shampoo and conditioner (not co-mingled, two independent containers of each) and we need a present for a birthday party Jack has been invited to (for a child I couldn't pick out of a line up).

Dear reader, would you imagine I would ask Lucio to go shopping with a list and take the child if I didn't have just too much to do in this incredibly short amount of time?

Like I would choose to skip a trip to Target.
I love Target.
There is always something I need at Target.
I don't even know I need it yet, but I know Target has what I need.

But don't call it Tar-jay.
It was cute in 2001. The first time.
It's not cute anymore. Nope. Not cute.
Stupid.

No, reader, you wouldn't imagine that I would ask this of Lucio were it not completely necessary.

You know who did?

Yes, He did.

But let me be clear.
He was okay with going to Target.
He was even okay with the child accompanying him.
He was cool with the list.

I knew he'd add Doritos and some cookies to the list. No worries.

Like I didn't factor that in. What am I, new?

No, Lucio's break down was the coupons.

I hand him the list and the coupons to him.

He looks at me blankly and doesn't immediately take them from me.

"What are these for?"

"Coupons. You've heard about the economy tanking and all. This is me, doing my part for our little Vazquez economy."

"I have never used these before."

"Well, honey, you purchase the items in the small picture, checking the size is the right, and it costs less."

"I really don't want to. What are you doing? I'll do that. You go to Target."


See, now I am going to stand on principle. My husband, who has been a citizen of the US for just over a year, as most of you know, comes from rural Mexico.
The state of Puebla.
Three bumpy hours south of Mexico City.

Maybe when we first met and you asked me where Lucio was from, I told you about the grand mountains and incredible colores of the flowers. The gardens of avocados, tomato, and cilantro, just waiting for you to crave guacamole. His donkey.

I probably told you about Lucio being related to the whole town. Or that his father was Mayor.

I can sell the shit out of the beauty and simplicity of Tehuacan.
Or more specifically, San Bartolo Teon Tepec.

The straight scoop?

The are farm animals wandering around everywhere.

Dogs without homes.

When the small Church festival caused a power outage to the whole town, the only person freaking out was me.

That fucking rooster every damned morning.

You want hot water? Better start burning some shit.

You've finished doing your business in toilet? There's a big (really big) hole in the ground filled with water and you have to get a bucket of water and throw the bucket of water down the toilet. There is nothing to flush.

Yes, I stood there the first time for a few minutes before sitting. I thought if I filled it up we'd just toss the whole thing out and go get a new one.

Let me say again how much I love this man. And our Mexican family couldn't be nicer.

This little ditty usually sums up my feelings about his home town.

I was sitting under a tree quietly reading Fast Food Nation and a fucking chicken jumped up to perch on my arm chair.

Flipped the damned chair over and all I could see through the dust all around me was my extended family running to help me up... and my beloved husband laying on the ground laughing his rather Americanized ass off, spewing some shit about "I can think of 20 people, off the top of my head, who would have paid to see that."

Indeed.


Quaint. Rural. Simple. All completely true. Parts are so perfect I cannot explain it. A family meal every night in the courtyard with a live band. And it had nothing to do with our being in Mexico. Just a regular old Miercoles.

But I ask you, does this sound like underpinnings of a man now refusing to use coupons?

I think not.


90 minutes later, I am back at the house, dry cleaning in closets, prescriptions in cabinet, library books returned, dinner on the stove with all listed ingredients and all the fixinng for dinner tomorrow in the fridge ready to crock pot in the morning.

Lucio comes in.

Jack is eating Dorritos.

Lucio tells me they came with the paper towel.

I ask him where the shampoo and conditioner are, as I search the two bags and cannot see them.

"They didn't have the one you wanted."

"So you got me nothing?"

"I knew you wanted what you wanted." (I'll give him that one.)

"Okay. Where's the coupon?"

"What coupon?"

"The one for shampoo and the one for conditioner."

"I gave it to the guy."

"You left it there? I don't understand. You didn't get the stuff. Where is the coupon?"

"I gave it to the guy."

"You said that already. I still don't understand."

He looks at me and says, "Heather, there was a line of people behind me, and they were all looking at me and so, I left it there."

He turns to walk out of the kitchen and calls out, "And I am not going back to get it so don't bother asking."

I watch him saunter down the hall in his Kenneth Cole shoes and entire outfit from LL Bean I picked out last season.

"To the manor born" I mumble just loud enough for him to hear.

"I am going to school now, Heather. I heard that and I understand it now."

I think this is what they call just desserts.