Back in the 70s I drove my wife, her niece, and two in-law sisters
down to the border to shop. We went in a pickup truck. Up front were
me, a sister-in-law, and a niece. In the covered back were my wife
and another sister. We crossed the Rio Grande. They shopped for
Mexican pottery, glass roosters, and a concrete donkey with a cart.
I wandered around. One shop had a slab of meat still with ribs
hanging in the window. It looked dried up. Flies had feasted on it,
many still clung to it.
Being hungry, I went back to the truck. Opening the ice chest I found
no ice. I wasn’t in the mood to eat melted cheese on wilted lettuce,
but that’s all I had.
Later, I loaded the truck, almost breaking my back lifting that heavy
concrete donkey cart. By then, I was fed up with the whole trip. I
told my sister-in-law, the one who had ridden up front on the way
down, that since she was the one with the donkey cart, she’d have to
ride in back on the way home.
My wife glared at me.
Later back home, I found out that sister-in-law had a bad case of
hemorrhoids. And I had been so insistent. I’m just glad I was up
front and couldn’t hear the complaining.
I don’t ever want to go back to the border, especially, with a bunch
of shopping women.
Return to This Week’s Flash