We don’t travel much. With three kids, three rats, two careers (well, some of my critics might say one and a half), a dog, and a cat, it’s difficult.
A friend of mine is getting married in Mexico in a couple of weeks. Should be fun. We’re staying with another couple in a palapa next to a bar called “El Burro Burracho” (The Drunken Donkey) so don’t expect my posts from that week to rise much above the status of vaguely philosophical, sun-drenched, lime-spritzed gibberish.
Tequila! Corona! Los ninos? Nada! We’re actually fobbing the kids off on a consortium of suckers, aka our parents. An incredibly complicated arrangement that involves my mother and her boyfriend, my father and wife, and my wife Pam’s parents each taking a couple of days. The dog-which, because he has to be walked all the time, and therefore is in a way the most unholy pain of them all to take care of-I’m handing over to my friend Leah who recently started working from home and loves him and will actually enjoy the company, I think.
We haven’t exactly worked things out with the cat and the rats and the snake. Maybe just open everyone’s cage and see who survives the ensuing brou-ha-ha?
Just kidding. We’ll work something out.
I console myself that my logistics are nothing like those of that poor bastard my friend the groom’s.
I think people secretly have these far-flung weddings to keep the numbers manageable, weed out some of the smaller fish. If that was on his mind in this case, it backfired. Everyone and their uncle-literally-is coming.
“Wedding in Mexico in February?” they said as one. “That’s a no-brainer!”
And they meant it literally.They said “yes, I’m coming,” and figured he’d think everything else through. So now he’s got to organize an armada of uncles, aunties, cousins, parents, in-laws, sisters, etc., help them find flights, rental cars, palapas, deal with a constellation, a Milky Way, of desires, tensions, considerations, questions, logistics, strained relations, dietary restrictions, access issues, health problems, etc.
They’re all descending at once. Half of them will be half in the bag half the time: the rest will be almost all the way in the bag almost all the time. If the Burro Burracho is anything like I’m picturing it (like the bar at the end of “Under the Volcano”) people will be shooting off guns, bouncing up and down in their low-riders.
It’s not going to be pretty. If I don’t make it, yo no regretto nada. Carl, you can have my computer. It’s a Pentium II so it’s pretty cool. My financial fortune I bequeath to Visa, Mastercard and Bell Telephone. Thanks for all the good times! The rest of my earthly goods-clothes, furniture-to the Sally Ann, if they’ll have them. Arriba!