Got my haircut — I love it. Very “Portrait of the Young Man as a Fascist.”
The lady I was doubled up with was very … awesome. It went like this:
So I told my daughter Shelby we would get her the miniature chihuahua even though it was more expensive, and so then she starts talking about her roommate, and I said “We’ve discussed this. You’re not getting a roommate. You’re in grad school.”
“But Mom, it’ll be cheaper.”
“You don’t need to do anything but study. You don’t need the distraction of a roommate. Plus, I’m paying for it anyway.”
She’s very conscientious. She shops at Wal-Mart, old Shelby. She bought a bunch of those religious candles, with the …? Yes, that stuff. She loves it. And only 99 cents!
I tried to give one to the housekeeper, Juanita, but she didn’t want one. I thought all Mexicans liked them! I remember there was a little girl that died, and they held a vigil in her house, and there were maybe fifteen of those candles around her picture.
I think maybe it’s because she’s not Catholic. I can’t remember what she is, but she’s not Catholic. I even asked her, I said, “Is it because you’re not Catholic?”
She won’t give me a straight answer. Shelby keeps trying to get me to fire Juanita, saying things like “She doesn’t even do anything, she just moves the dirt around.”
And how am I supposed to explain that when you’ve worked in the same household for nine years, you get complacent. I get it. So she missed this corner, or that spot — the older I get, the less I care.
And you can’t fuss at them, because they’re overemotional. I’m talking about Hispanic women. I’ve made Juanita cry twice. Never again.
I had to spend an hour each time telling her much I loved her, how special she was — and this in Spanish! I don’t even know Spanish!
By the time I’d undropped my jaw and opened my mouth to speak, she was gone.