The Bad News Is: I'm a Grandmother

Diane and I were sitting in the downtown square in Cuernavaca. Like in most, if not all, places in Mexico, the downtown square is the place to hang out. Mexican families are social animals, preferring to hang out in the Zocalo to being home and isolated. Even on weeknights the squares are vibrant, crowded and full of vendors.

While sitting there, a small child, probably 5 years old, approached me. She was selling small beaded bracelets. Ever the salesperson, she walked up to me with gusto. When asked what I wanted to buy, I told her nothing, but thanked her kindly. She refused to go. C'mon, she was telling me, look at the bracelets. I told her they were pretty. But again, no thanks. She persisted. She took a couple of the bracelets and laid them across my leg. Look, she said. Wouldn't I buy one? Again -- no, but thanks. She then tried to put one on my wrist. It didn't fit. At that point, I must have aged significantly.

She really tried to sell them hard. Then she said it: C'mon. I should buy some for my grandchildren, she said.

Diane choked on her corn. The two true grandmothers sharing the bench with us stifled their laughter. The small child persisted, not once thinking about her statements.

In a matter of minutes I aged 20 years and miraculously become not only a mother, but a grandmother. This kind of childbirth is painful -- phsyically. I've yet to figure out what it's done to my ego.

BTW, Cuernavaca bills itself as the "City of Eternal Spring." But damn it if it wasn't hotter than your Mom while we were there!