I'm not sure if it's because he knows there will be puppies for sale or because he likes their hats (hats for humans [tragically not for puppies]).
Both are straight up legit reasons, but I'm over it and assume our guests aren't interested.
I'm wrong, though.
We finally took Jaime's parents there last week, and they fucking loved it.
But I'd learned on a previous trip that despite getting a kick out of it, Spaniards and Jamesport are a queer mix. A stranger made the mistake of asking Jaime where he was from, and I've never seen him square up so fast. He thought better of it, though, and instead tersely reminded the man that HE TOO HAD AN ACCENT BECAUSE EVERYONE HAS AN ACCENT then he bought two homemade jams (rhubarb and peach-honey).
He only ever gets that nasty when he's making paella, and I'm the only victim of that hate crime.
This time, it was my father-in-law, Alfredo, trying to order a beer at a Mennonite restaurant that set the awkward tone for the trip. I thought our poor 13 year-old server was going to shit her frock. We got him a root beer instead. He liked it.
I'd also told Alfredo not to take pictures of the locals because they do not like it, and one time they flipped off my Uncle Louie for doing it. He responded by holding the phone up to the window to record as we passed a horse and buggie driven by a mother with her three nesting doll boys.
I glanced over at their tiny faces under those sweet ass hats and felt a pang of regret that they would never even get the chance to binge drink and expose their penises to their Yale classmates before becoming Supreme Court Justices.
It just seems so unfair.
After asking where a public restroom was and receiving the answer that the climate crisis isn't real and god said the Muslims would always be fighting, we were entertained by a yodeler who was a horse wrangler for a Spanish matador who was best friends with Ernest Hemingway, but if liars can yodel like that, I don't want to know the truth.
Our last stop was to visit the puppies at a general store with gas lighting. We bought a bag of about 20 dozen potatoes and the craziest shit we could find including the bacon bits that Jaime nearly choked to death on before discovering they were imitation.
"What are these yummy red, crunchy things on my salad?"
Again, bless that poor server girl. I hope she's recovered from the mess of waiting on a table of alcoholic vegetarians.
