MeXscape

Yesterday started out the same as any other day. Chuck woke up about a quarter to eight, slid out of bed, and took the dogs with him out of the bedroom for their morning potty break. I stretched and yawned, and remained there in bed, enjoying the comfort of the mattress and the coolness of the bedroom, steeling myself to get up, turn off the air conditioner, and face the heat of the day. After a few minutes, Chuck came back into the bedroom, and with four little words, dramatically changed the course of my day: “Babe, we've been robbed.”

I know a lot of you reading this are cringing in horror at the thought of going for surgery in a Mexican hospital. Many people conjure up a picture of a glassy-eyed bandito type with a knife in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other getting ready to cut me open. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Subtitled “Stuck”

The Monday before last, the cleaning lady was coming for our “move-in” cleaning. She is terrified of dogs, so we decided to pack them up and take them somewhere. We had been wanting to take them to the beach, so we opened up the map to look for a location that appeared suitably isolated.

Living in mainstream society in the US, it is not hard to decide how much of anything to buy at once. Everything comes prepackaged or in set amounts. If you like something typically you buy more of it at once because you get a bulk discount. Even produce is priced in groups. 5 limes for $1.00; 2 pounds for $1.89.