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DEAR ESPERANZA: Papers, pleeze?

June 23, 2010

Dear Esperanza:

I’m in love. I’m really, really in love. He’s wonderful in everyway. He’s sweet, handsome, charming. He looks at me in that special way, like I’m the only woman in the world. I can’t live without him.

He asked me to marry him. There’s no one in the world I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.  But there is one thing…

He needs papers. I didn’t question why he hung out at Home Depot so much–I thought he liked shopping for tools. And it was kind of weird that he lived in a garden shed with sixteen roommates. And that he didn’t have a checking account or credit card. He said he rode his bike for exercise. Not to mention the fact that this beautiful man can fix anything and the ring he gave me was made of copper tubing wrapped in aluminum foil.  How was I supposed to know?

Then, when we were having a romantic dinner at the taco stand, MIGRA showed up at the bar across the street. My man became a superhero. The boy scaled a ten-story building and ran from rooftop to rooftop until he disappeared into the night. It was beautiful.

But now I have doubts. Does he love me? Or does he love my paperwork?

What do I do?

Dolores Duda

**

 

Dear Sigue Dudando Dolores:

This is a horrible, terrible tragedy.

I once fell in love with an “alien.” He had huge, round eyes, biggo bald head, lanky limbs…he could have been from Mars. But came from the Amazon Jungle. My very own jungle alien. Hot!

That boy knew how to swing from a vine. He had moves…ay, ay, ay!

He couldn’t twirl his tongue around the English language but that tongue twirled all over me.  Who needs paperwork when you got a tongue like that!

It didn’t matter to me that he needed papers. People always want something from their partner–companionship, love, sex, compassion, home cooked meals, clean shirts, a co-signer, etc. What’s the difference?

When I married my alien, I taught him the American way. I kept him locked up, made sure he didn’t learn a word of English. I told him American husbands cooked, cleaned, gave massages and pedicures, never touched the remote or watched sports and always pee-ed outside . The perfect marriage.

Then one night, while I was out with my girlfriends at happy hour hitting on this fine cholo…my jungle alien discovered the internet. All my hard work went to hell. He met a horny viejita on Facebook who lived at the local retirement village.

Asi es.

If your alien makes you happy… then suck the life out of him for as long as you can, mija. You got something else better to do?

Love is a mucho splendored thing.

People are people–regardless of paperwork.

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