Carlos and me

Just in case you were wondering, Mexico is terrible and you totally shouldn’t go there.

For instance, as soon as you step outside at their airport, it’s 85 degrees and the sun is super bright on your weak little foreign eyes, and everyone is wearing jaunty wicker fedoras and suddenly you will want a jaunty wicker fedora, even though your hair is already gigantic and expanding exponentially in the humidity and the aforementioned jaunty wicker fedora would just sit atop your wad of hair at a precarious, decidedly unjaunty angle until it fell off and was trampled by people drinking margaritas while waiting for their cabs to the hotels, because you can also drink basically anywhere in Mexico.

Like in the back of your cab, for instance. We might have done that. Just to see how terrible it would be.

Then you show up at the hotel and it’s such a hellhole:

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And for some reason, this man won’t stop following you around and telling you he’s your butler and asking if he can please do something for you, and you’re like, nice try, man, but this isn’t an eighties sitcom and we’re not a sassy blended family and no one really has a butler.

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I never got to ask if he was related to Cheech.

So now you’ve got this guy up your butt all the time, and after awhile you begin to realize that he is actually watching you when you’re not looking, like you’ll get a phone call from Carlos that he saw you down by the ocean this morning, and he wants to know who set up your cabana since he knows it wasn’t him, and you’re like, okay, one, that’s creepy that you scoped us out on the beach and I’m unsure how you did this without us seeing you, because you always wear what appears to be a black military outfit, and two, we set it up ourselves, because butlers aren’t even real.

Maybe he hid behind this death trap, its coconut bombs waiting to crush your skull into the powder soft sand, and–

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OKAY, I CAN’T KEEP THIS UP MEXICO IS JUST THE GREATEST PLACE ON EARTH EVERYTHING IS AMAZING THERE ARE UNLIMITED MARGARITAS AND PING PONG AND THE OCEAN IS LIKE A WARM HUG FROM YOUR GRANDMA BUT IF YOUR GRANDMA WERE SEXY AND SMELLED LIKE BUBBLE GUM AND I ATE A QUAIL EGG AND DIDN’T DIE FROM IT AND I THINK MEXICO IS MAGIC AND LOOK AT THIS DOLPHIN:

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AND ONE NIGHT WE CAME BACK TO THE ROOM TO FIND THAT CARLOS HAD FILLED UP THE DOUBLE JACUZZI TUB IN OUR ROOM WITH BUBBLES AND WARM WATER AND I WAS LIKE THAT’S A LITTLE CREEPY BECAUSE THAT’S PROBABLY BASICALLY JUST A SEX TUB BUT REALLY VERY NICE THAT HE DID THAT FOR US, AND THERE WERE CATS THAT LIVED AT THE RESORT AND WE NAMED ALL OF THEM AND INSTEAD OF SQUIRRELS THEY HAVE IGUANAS:

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AND LITERALLY THE ONLY BAD THING THAT HAPPENED THE ENTIRE TIME WERE WERE THERE WAS THAT FOR SOME REASON THEY SHOWED A BEE-GEES CONCERT ON THE BUS ON THE WAY HOME FROM OUR EXCURSION TO XEL-HA.

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In short, Mexico is a perfect paradise of awesomeness, where you can wear a bikini and it doesn’t matter because you’ll never see anyone again. My only regret is that we didn’t find a way to stay a little longer.

And that we didn’t really use Carlos enough, because he genuinely seemed hurt that we kept setting up our own cabana.

 

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