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A break from mopping … for sex
Today, I am sparing you a ridiculously long post about how much I love my new mop. Breathe a sigh of relief too because I also am sparing you cultural pontification and perhaps some lame jokes about The Cuban Mop. You know that wooden T one with the ancient rag, or estropajo, slung over it.
To mop: Baldear.
My grandmother would grab that scary stick with great authority. She wielded it like a soldier would a sword. The terrazzo gleamed.
Ah cubanitos, can you smell the pinaroma?
Anyway, as I said, sparing you more.
Instead, I offer this sweet treat: sex and the beach.
If you haven’t already spotted it in the links section, make some time in a comfy chair, maybe with a fruity drink, and prepare to have a naughty good time.
Please be sure to listen to “Manola’s” Spanglish lessons. (Not PG) I first listened early in the morning when my family was asleep and thought I would rouse them from slumber by laughing so hard.
My particular favorite: a lesson on the Cuban “tiki tiki.”
So much tiki tiki.
So, go now.
Me, back to Mopping Monday.
It’s even funnier when she does it in person!
Fabulous! Still laughing out loud over the “tiki tiki.” =D
We lived in Spain when I was little and were fortunate enough to have a cleaning lady once a week. To this day, whenever I smell Pine-Sol, it brings back memories of Rosario and her big hugs and incredible tortilla.
(But I had to learn about the miracle of veeks vaporoob, amazing healer of every injury or sickness, from an Ecuardorian lady on the commuter train in Miami.)
OMG class…when my parents were last here my dad had a cold. My mom insisted — loudly and regularly — that my father use the vaporoob…even though he wasn’t stuffed up. I told her she was like the Greek guy in My Big Fat Greek Wedding with the Windex. It seems like each time they are here she requests it for something or another.
I’m trying to think of what the equivalent cure is in my family’s culture — Norwegian/Slovak/German farm people from Wisconsin.
Maybe it’s my grandmother saying, “Offer your suffering up to Jesus” any time something happened I didn’t like.
Or maybe it’s hotdish.
(The plastic-wrapped furnitute, however, crosses all ethnic boundaries. Until after I finished college, I thought all grandmas had plastic on their sofa.)
Oyeme chica, muchas gracias! El honor es mío de estar aqui!
Every time my mother comes over we discuss why her Cuban mop is better than my Libman, LOL! On the other hand, she actually does use Windex for everything, especially to as bug spray.
I’m trying to think of what the equivalent cure is in my family’s culture — Norwegian/Slovak/German farm people from Wisconsin.
Maybe it’s my grandmother saying, “Offer your suffering up to Jesus” any time something happened I didn’t like.
Or maybe it’s hotdish.
(The plastic-wrapped furnitute, however, crosses all ethnic boundaries. Until after I finished college, I thought all grandmas had plastic on their sofa.)
Ooops! Sorry about the double. I’d delete but I don’t know how.