Little Morgan, Telephones and Gorditos

"Ella es pequena o es una gordita?" the lady asked, inquiring, as it were, whether my 10-year-old niece is small or "a chubby little thing." I was trying to buy the spoiled little rat another shirt.

"Ummm, err, uhhh, bueno, ella es ... regular?"

The woman pointed at me and asked whether she was like myself. I nodded with a bit of discomfort, considering I didn't know whether she'd side on small or fat for myself; when I told my brother, Little Morgan's pops, he said:

Charles: I'll slap that woman if she called my child portly!

Charles: Only I can say that.

Did she give you that sympathetic look?

me: oh she did

Charles: Shoulda tipped you off, chica grande. (checking my own guts).
me: checking mine too, oof.

After separating from Ms. Sands for a bit this afternoon, I'd done what I do every time we separate; I wander into the mercados to find cheap things (Mama G's influence for bargains, can't help it) for Brother G's little spawn.

Ms. Sands went off to the book store to find a cookbook (an awesome one, inspired by brutal deaths -- according to its title -- after we found the library only had children cookbooks (?)).

When we re-met, we walked towards the Exito, a Wal-Mart of sorts, to get a taxi. I've walked into and around that megastore of goods so many times, it's embarrassing (one of my favorite pasttimes is to go in and calculate the price changes in their meats, vegetables ... and even their cosmetics, underwear, rice, tuna, beer ... the list, oh, it goes on -- sigh) but I've never stopped by their payphones. I figured they were either defunct or worthless if I needed to call home.

They weren't.

I got to talk to Mama G for 500 pesos (23-ish cents) ... what a surprise. What a surprise. I even got some change back from the old payphone. Who knew?

I'm glad I hadn't known till now -- else I would've been standing at those payphones each day for the past 20 days because she'd have known I could.