Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Wednesday July 23, 2003


Dear Rob & Buddies,

My husband, Rudy the Mexican, claims to have a better tan than I. Mind you, for the past month I have been taking kids to the pool nearly every day while he has been hanging out in our basement finishing drywall. (Jeez, how Mexican can you get??)

I have spent a considerable amount of my summer mastering the art of reading a magazine in such a way as to ensure it casts no shadow upon my body. Yet my naturally brown spouse claims a better tan? I think not! He even brags that this alleged “tan” will still be there in February when I am the color of joint compound. He’s ridiculous! That’s not a tan- that’s just plain old ordinary brownness, and I remain unimpressed.

I suspect he secretly believes that he, a Mexican-American purebred, is somehow superior to me, a European-American mutt. He may even furtively hope I get skin cancer so he can smirk and think condescending thoughts about me in Spanish.

I hold that only an earned tan, a tan caused by actual exposure to the actual sun, aided by skillful magazine juggling on the part of the tan-ee, counts. I say Rudy is not tan; he is merely genetically refried. And besides, the tops of my feet are darker than his.

HA! If I get a pair of brown contact lenses, dye my hair black, and learn to eat molè without grimacing, there is a slim chance my mother-in-law may finally find a way to approve of me.
Naah, that’ll never happen.
Oh well, at least my cheesy thighs now look more appetizing than her inedible flãn.

Okay, okay. I admit she's a good cook. In fact, her cheesecake is soley responsible for the state of my thighs. Making me fat is probably her way of exacting revenge upon me for failing to be Mexican.

Much Love,
--Mom