My Love Said, “Pull My Finger.”

Slightly worse than that, I did.  And, worse even still, he proceeded to fart.

But I digress.

Hernán and I just got a week together.  Well, six days.  I arrived home this morning.  Family hugs were exchanged, plans were discussed, terrible horrifying Spanish was spoken.

It went so fast.

I bring back many things with me from Argentina–it’s good shopping for things like leather and mates, after all, and Hernán (and his family) is lavish in spoiling me.  Mostly, though, I love the reminders of Other Home.  I have them from head to toe, to eat, to drink.  I have shoes, bags, jewelry, a mate, alfajores, hat, shirts, pants, a keychain.  Gifts from Hernán, things from Argentina–tiny anchors for me.

Mmmm...No, really...

I have to go back to work tomorrow, which I’m looking forward to that just as much as one would expect, and I’ll be going back with totems of Other Home with me.  In two days, the new mate will be finished curing, and I will have that weird, strongly grass scented drink to sip on, too.  Perhaps I’ll drink it with nachos, and combine my two homes in one of the most terrifying ways imaginable.

You know how much weird ass shit you get with a Google Image search for "silver mate"? Awesomely, this is one of those things.

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About Leta Arán

A flake who laughs at her own jokes.
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