Since were all stuck at home and can’t go off on vacation, I thought I’d let y’all reread about one of our past trips. This is one of Janet’s old articles. She wrote this about a vacation we took to Cabo San Lucas about 13 or 14 years ago. Enjoy.
Going on vacation with Rusty is like taking along a small, unruly child. At least he is not in diapers. Although, I am expecting he will need them any time now. For one thing, Rusty can not sit still. He fidgets, especially if he has to sit for any length of time. Church is about as long as he can sit still, and even then, you would think he has worms. On the two and a half hour plane ride to Cabo, he was bouncing around in his seat like a two year old. He must have gone to the bathroom six or seven times and every time when he would walk out of the bathroom, he would run and look out the first window he would come to.
“Why are you looking out the window?” I asked him, after I had observed him doing this several times.
“When I flushed the commode, I wanted to see if I could see it fall,” he replied.
“They don’t dump it into the air,” I said.
“That’s what they want you to believe,” he said.
“They who?”
“You know. The commode people.”
“The commode people?”
This conversation went on and on. He will wear you out. Speaking of conversations, he wrote last week that he puts an “O” at the end of each word, because that is show you speak Spanish. He was not lying to you. He really does believe that. He does not really have a grasp on any language, including English. When the people in Cabo said anything to him in Spanish, well, here’s some of the stuff that happened.
“Holá,” said a young man, as he passed us on the street.
“Did you hear that?” asked Rusty.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well, I don’t know who this Ola is, but I must be a spittin’ image of him.”
“They are not calling you Ola, you moron,” I informed him. “They are saying Holá, only the H is silent. It means hello.”
“They are?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Well, why in the heck don’t they say hello then if that’s what they mean. It’s like they’re talkin’ in a foreign language or somethin’.”
I rolled my eyes. (Yes, I do roll my eyes. If you were married to Rusty you would roll your eyes, too. I’ve rolled them so much, it’s a wonder they are still in my head.) “It is a foreign language,” I said. “Remember where we are?”
“Yeah, but the Mexicans up where we live say hello.”
“Yes, but when in Rome,” I said.
“We’re in Rome? I thought this was Mexico,” he said.
I gave him one of what he calls “those looks.”
Rusty can find humor in just about anything, although what he considers humorous, and what the rest of the world finds humorous, is usually two different things. Take for example when we took a guided tour of the city.
We were picked up at our hotel one morning by a tour van. The driver opened the door to help me in.
“Howdy,” said Rusty.
“Holá,” said the driver. “I’m Juan.”
“Really” said Rusty, and he smiled. “Well howdy Juan, I’m Two, and this here is my wife Three.” The driver and I both gave him one of “those looks.”
“What?” Rusty said. “Don’t y’all get it? Juan, Two, Three? Get it? Aw, come on. That’s funny.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said.
“She’s right,” Juan said. “Not funny.”
We climbed into the van. Rusty leaned over to whisper to me. “I guess he forgot we whooped their rear ends at the Alamo.”
“We lost at the Alamo,” I informed him.
“We did? Oh, yeah, that’s right. But we got ‘em at San Jacinto.” I rolled my eyes. It was a long, long tour.
Then there was the time we were waiting for a restaurant to open up, so we could go in for dinner. The restaurant was located at our hotel resort, and really a nice place. It was really too fancy of a place to take Rusty, but I could not find anyone else to go with, so I was stuck. We were sitting outside on a bench looking out at the waves crashing onto the beach when one of the hotel staff walked by.
“Howdy,” said Rusty.
“Buenas tardes,” the man said as he went by.
“Did you hear that?” Rusty said. “He said Wayne passed gas,” only Rusty did not say “passed gas”. He said the other word.
“He said buenas tardes, you idiot,” I said. (Yes, I call him an idiot. I can’t help it, he is one.) “It means good afternoon, or good evening.”
“Oh,” said Rusty. “That’s good. I thought he was warnin’ us, so we wouldn’t get stuck sittin’ next to Wayne’s table or somethin’.”
Now don’t get me wrong, Rusty and I had a wonderful time in Mexico. I would highly recommend Cabo San Lucas to anyone. However, if I go back, I will probably be going as a fugitive from justice. Can they extradite you from Mexico for murder?