Princessa

My daughter is a riot. She says the funniest things. She’s only 10. Lord Have Mercy.

We were walking back to our room yesterday, and she turned & smiled at me and held out her wrist to show me the new bracelet she’d bought on the beach that afternoon.

J- Nice! My little jewelry queen, that’s cute.

I- He called me Princessa. I’d buy anything from someone who called me Princessa. You sure don’t hear that every day, and CERTAINLY not in our cold little town.

J- You crack me up.

I- I’m with you mom, let’s move. I don’t want to go home. I don’t like the cold. I want to see the sun every day.

J- You want to shop on the beach.

I- and be called Princessa… don’t forget the best part.

This magical place really ruins you for the lame men of the United States. Really. Spending a week here transforms you from a strong independent woman into a girlie girl….. a Princessa.

When you walk in to eat dinner at a restaurant, your fabulously handsome & attentive waiter comes rushing out to greet you.

W- Hola, Senorita, buenos noches.

He pulls out your chair for you… he unfolds your napkin and lays it in your lap. You don’t want for a single thing from the moment you sit down until the moment you leave.

The answer to anything you want? Is, Yes. Not that you ever really have to ask… these men are professionals at anticipating your every desire.

I’m not exaggerating.

Your food is exactly perfect or he takes it away and brings you something else. I never send food back. Ever. I think it’s horribly rude and I grew up in a kitchen with a chef for a father. I know they hate you when you send it back. Trust me. In Mexico? If you don’t inhale everything on your plate, they want to know if you want something else or if you don’t love it. They really truly want to please you. It’s a little bizarre at first. Heaven help the women who eat like birds… this is not the vacation destination for you.

They bring you coffee, water, juice & ask if you’d like a mimosa or bloody mary with your breakfast. The same happens with dinner. You can change anything on the menu to your liking- they are only too happy to accommodate you. It’s truly amazing. It really ruins you for every going out to dinner in the states.

and it reallllllllly ruins you for American men.

Because the men here? Are professionals. They smile admiringly. They wink. They compliment you until you blush.

They sing to you… which is what happened last night when my sister and I went for a margarita at our favorite bar at the hotel. Girasoles. Mendez the bartender, is freaking adorable. Dimples even. Wowsies. So cute you want to take pictures of him while you enjoy the lovely surroundings. So sweet- and a single dad of 3. We caught the first buzz we’ve had since coming to Mexico.

In walks Alfredo… the restaurant musician. 50+, tall & shiny bald. Handsome and sweet- like a Mexican George Clooney. He sits at the bar and asks Mendez for his favorite tequila, which translates into Rat Killer. Young tequila, and he insists we taste it. It’s good actually- and I generally don’t like tequila. He charms us for a while and heads back up the stairs to play in the restaurant. He tells us he’ll be back to play us a song.

We’re getting the giggles and playing poker dice. Enjoying the balmy breeze in the open air bar. Ahhh Mexico- heaven on earth. He offers to bring us a few blankets to keep us warm and we both laugh & explain that we live in Idaho, in the freezing ass cold. We’re beyond content… we’re blissful.

Alfredo walks down with his bongos and asks us what we want to hear. My sister tells him to play us his favorite. He smiles, sits down, closes his eyes and starts to sing & play the bongos.

Now ordinarily? I hate being put on the spot by a man. The guitar players of the world scare me to death. I don’t like it. It makes me painfully awkward and embarrassed. Both for myself and for him. Uck. Hate it.

This is a whole new ballgame though. He’s singing in Spanish and I hear my sister gulp… she reaches her hand out and puts it on my arm.

K- OMG I wish you could understand what he’s saying.

He finishes the song and my sister asks him how to translate it and he says:

How did it happen?
I cant tell you how it was.
Nor can I explain what happened
but I fell in love with you

A light that lit up my whole being
Your laugh, like a spring
Filled my life with unease

Was it your eyes, or your mouth?
Your lips or your voice?
Maybe it was the impatience
Of waiting so long for you
More, I cant say, I cant say how it was
Nor can I explain what happened
But I fell in love with you.

There you have it… and Bravo Alfredo- way to hand us the nicest sort of gift a man can give… well thought-out appreciation. In the form of a romantic love song. He serenaded us with his flute too, and a little Santana on the bongos at the end of the night.

Three cheers for Mexico…. and Alfredo…. and Mendez…. and Abel….and Fernando… etc….

Damn it feels fabulous to be a princessa….I never want to go home… and since I have to…

May I have a few Princes to go?

4 thoughts on “Princessa

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