Tomato Allergies

Mi hermana brought home a gringo yesterday. I haven’t decided if I’m going to like him, but I must admit that I’m strongly leaning towards pretty much hating him.

Mira, no man is good enough for mi hermanita. This I know. But in comes “Derek” with his fancy blue eyes, spiky blonde hair, and orange Lacoste shirt and I decided that I really wasn’t going to like him. It didn’t help him that he was well over six feet tall. Ladies, what must I do to make you realize that tall men are overrated?

It’s not a bad thing to look down into your man’s eyes. Why do you want to look up? Your neck will hurt after some time and if you end up with them you will eventually become crooked. So please, in the name of good posture, stop dating tall men. I digress…

Derek. I don’t understand this name. It sounds too harsh on my ears. If the hard “k” sound is to be in a word, it should be followed by a vowel. No exceptions.

I was very polite to Derek and asked him if I could offer him something to drink.

“Oh, yeah. Can I have a water?”

What the hell is this, Cactus Cantina? You come into mi casa you giant son of a bitch and you ask me for water?

How about a beer, Derek?

I am sure to over-pronounce the “k” and mi hermana noticed. All I’m saying is that if a man offers you a drink, you don’t ask for water. At least not in mi casa. He probably doesn’t drink scotch either. Mi hermana brought home a gringo…

At dinner the conversation was boring. Hedge fund this, mutual fund that, options, blah blah blah. His hair was too spiky and blonde. I bet he wraps a sweater around his shoulders when it gets too cold. He looks as if his mother’s name is Buffy or Kitty. Oh yes, he’ll be celebrating St. Patrick’s day. Am I being too harsh?

I look over while trying not to fall asleep to his verbal taco salad and realize that he hasn’t touched any of his tomatoes. What in the name of Santo Domingo is this all about?

Derek, you don’t like tomatoes?

“Oh, yeah, I’m allergic actually.”

You’re allergic to tomatoes?

What man is allergic to tomatoes?

“Yeah, I break out in hives when I eat them.”

Hives…. Derek just received my Man-Woman of the Year Award. The local transvestites finally have competition. Why can’t mi hermana find a nice Guatemalan man?

In my many years of studying human behavior I’ve determined (just now) that I don’t like people who are allergic to tomatoes. If you don’t like to eat something just say so. Don’t give me this allergic talk. If that’s the case, I’m allergic to lima beans.

Derek, do you play soccer?

“No, I played lacrosse in college.”

Si, why wouldn’t you…. Mi hermana hears me mutter this and kicks me under the table. She is a feisty little creature, mi hermana. The women in my family have a tendency to kick my shins under the table. I believe that I have nerve damage from this and will one day be a cripple. I wouldn’t mutter if they stopped bringing home the tall gringos.

My mind flashes to their wedding at the country club and how all their fair-skinned guests mistake me for their waiter. How all of a sudden my sister becomes “exotic” in their eyes because she is marrying a man with a name containing a hard “k”. She is no longer Latina, Hispanic, or the brown little girl. She is Derek’s wife and is “exotic”. Buffy, your daughter in law is beeeautiful. She is so exotic. Is she Italian? I’ll tell you what, those Mediterranean women are so exotic. I just have to stay by Henry’s side when we go to Europe because he just loves them. Oh, Guatemalan? Yes, frightful history they’ve had. Our gardener is either Guatemalan or Nicaraguan. Who knows anymore!

“El Guapo, Derek has a sister who likes to dance.”

“Yeah, man. Tracy loves Latin dancing. Your sister tells me you can cut a mean rug.”

Cut a rug? I don’t even act like I know what the diablo that means. A sister? She must be blonde, have blue eyes, tan from sun, toned legs from tennis…. Maybe I can get used to this Derek fellow.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo