Chili Reeee laaaay NO!

We all need a little spice in our life, right? You may not know this but, I consider myself an honorary Latino of sorts. I speak a bit of the native tongue and God knows I can throw down on some salsa con queso! However I realized that being an honorary Latino was more than late night trips to "the border" and saying "Hola" when greeting others. I wanted to learn about the culture so I did what anyone seeking such knowledge would do....I adopted a Chilean! I know...genius right!? I was sitting there one night when one of those infomercials flashed a special on rowdy Chileans. I adopted one online...free shipping and everything! It was sort of a blind order in that I didn't know exactly what I was getting. Someone to cook me enchiladas? Someone to tell me Chilean bedtime stories? Maybe someone who could do both! I should have known there was a BIG problem when my Chilean showed up sans packaging vino in hand. No turning back now. A dios mio!

I was committed to making my little Chilean feel welcome even though it appeared she had plenty of social skills under her belt. She told me stories of her familia back in Chile. I'd never heard of Hagerstown, Chile but she said her whole family lived there along with her two cats. She offered to take me there and make me a true honorary Chilean. That sounded good until she told me of the indoctrination process. I would be required to drink the blood of a sterile llama, have relations with her eldest brother and eat goat tortillas with spermiasada. Loosely translated my response went something like, "Muchas Gracias." I thought perhaps if I could mimic her behaviors I might be able to understand a bit more about her life in Hagerstown, Chile. For the first month after her arrival I watched for any sign of common ground. Day after day bottle after bottle I started to wonder if she knew that Chardonnay was not in fact our drinking water. When she drank too much "water" she would yell "Bailamos" and dance on the counter top. I assumed this to be some sort of cultural statement so I smiled and yelled "Bailamos" along with her.

She was a little thin for my taste and I looked forward to the opportunity to fatten her up. I tried all of my usual tricks....donuts, candies, fries. These techniques have proved successful around the world. However, the Chilean wasn't falling for it. I refused to give up. I saw my opportunity one night when she was dancing on the counter top, yelling "Bailamos" and then jumped down to declare her hunger. I told her McDonald's was open and we were off. Little did I know she was about to create the greatest crime against fatties since taking away trans fats! She ordered a #1 combo and didn't eat the fries. *Pause for shock factor* I heard her say something like, "No me gusta Papas Fritas." I took that as..."I want you to have my fries" and instantly she was forgiven. When I weighed her crime against 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun...I gave her credit for time served. Still...her size 2 frame was disturbing and something needed to be done. It seemed the only time I could get her to eat like an American was when she was on her menses (yes mother that was for you). So I resigned myself to the fact that once a month we could bond as fatties and that was that.

I encouraged my little Chilean to get out and meet people. I thought if she could find some friends maybe she would put away the vino and stop dancing on the tables. Perhaps this plan would have worked had she not met the girl down the street. If my Chilean thought Chardonnay was water, her new friend thought Merlot ran through her veins! I decided to run recon and join them for a night on the town. I won't go into detail except to say that I was asked NOT to dance on the counter tops as I was standing over the seam. Fatty discrimination...unacceptable. I started to feel like there was no hope for my Chilean here in America. One week, when her friend went away, I agreed to spend some time with her. I was hoping for an intervention and what I got was a whole new set of problems. Picture me drinking the vino, dancing on the counter tops and yelling random Spanish slang. Which by the way is never a good idea unless you know exactly what you are saying. Asking the waiter "What do you want" when you thought you were saying "What do you have" doesn't always sit well. Perhaps it's better than calling someone an F'n Bitch when you thought you were saying little witch. It's hard to forgive across culture barriers now isn't it?

So I have given up hope that my little Chilean will join the convent and become a good citizen of the Estados Unidos. Instead I have moved into the basement to live with my dogs so that she can Baila the night away. Guess I should have read the return policy.