Saturday was supposed to be Spanish-Spoken-Here Saturday at the office. Ariela and I arrived bright and early and waited. And waited. I had several regular clients show up, a few new clients, but not a single client who wanted to prepare their taxes speaking spanish only. Ariela had called those potential clients who had requested her and told them about our hours for Saturday and urged them to come in. Nope. No one. Nada, as they would have surely said had they appeared. She was so mad - she hates to sit and do nothing. We are reconsidering the wisdom of trying to accomodate people who clearly cannot be bothered to come in when she is available. I guess we're back to having the die-hards contact Ariela directly. Which brings me to the tamales... Ariela's neighbor makes homemade tamales and sells them by the dozen. I ran by Ariela's house after work to drop something off and she gave me a dozen fresh, hot out of the pot tamales for dinner. I couldn't wait! Seriously, I couldn't wait. So I sampled one on the way home - I keep extra sporks from Taco Bell in the glove box. Hot. And not just the temperature. Just then my phone rang; it was Ariela. She said, "I just tasted the tamales and I said to Marco, 'These are too hot for Dawn.'" I told her that I had sampled one already, but I was confident that a little sour cream on top would alleviate the heat. Onward home I drove and to my surprise, there was a parking spot available right in front of my door. The evening was looking up. And then, disaster. As I walked the short distance from my SUV to my door, the bottom dropped out of the bag with the tamales and the foil wrapper, which I had not properly sealed after my in-transit taste test, came open and to my dismay, there were eleven hot tamales on the sidewalk. Undeterred, I scooped them up and carried the steaming things into the apartment in my hands, trying to hang on to my purse, my keys and my cane. I'm sure it was quite a sight! I shooed Aggie back from the door and dropped a tamale. "No!" I shrieked and picked it up. I finally made it to the kitchen and deposited the steaming pile of cornhusk-wrapped delights on the counter. You see, tamales are exempt from the five-second rule: thank Quetzalcoatl (or Whomever) for imparting the wisdom of wrapping tamales in cornhusks to Albert Einstein Tamale. I quickly unwrapped them all and put them into a sealable container - well except for the ones Aggie and I planned to have for dinner. They were spicy, but wonderful. Sour cream and all.
Oh, and about the movie. It was okay, but a little raunchy for my taste. It was a typical romantic comedy, but I could have done without all of the innuendo and double entendre. Gerard Butler is cute, though.
