Mexican life

Night salads

SOMETIMES it’s good to show one’s human side.

Our evening meal is always a salad. I fix it myself. It’s served about 8 p.m., and we dine upstairs sitting in recliners watching Netflix, recovering from our ever-arduous days.

kit2While making the salads last night, my child bride snapped these two photos with her phone camera. The photos are not very sharp.

But neither am I.

It’s been quite nippy here in the evenings lately, and that’s why I am heavily clothed. We have no central heat. Or central air-conditioning either for that matter. No need.

kitThe flannel pants I am sporting were purchased in Costco, and are adorned with skulls and crossbones. The heavy hoodie was also a Costco buy.

That thing atop my head is an ancient and dreadfully misshapen watch cap. My child bride detests it.

But I never wear it out of the house, and I have a much newer version of the exact same model for social wear. The newer one looks quite smart, I think.

My normal preference for black-and-white photos has been cast aside for obvious reasons. We live in blazing color.

The Odd Pot

Pants and skivvies

I wear jeans. Always.

When I lived in Texas, where it swelters in summer, I was not much of a jeans man because jeans don’t breathe. They are hot pants, which is good when you live on a cool mountaintop in Mexico, as I do. But not in a Texas summer.

Whereas I’m 100 percent jeans below the border, I used to be 100 percent khaki above. Long in the workplace, of course, short outside in summer — khaki shorts. I had great legs back in those days. Feet too. A woman in an elevator once told me so.

jeansBut those things, like noses and ears, do not improve with age.

I long had trouble finding jeans in Mexico because I’m way taller than most Mexicans, but they can be found. Levi’s often are available in my size, but I don’t pay $45-$50 (U.S.) for pants.

Those prices seem overblown to a Mexican mind.

Mostly I buy Riders at WalMart. One odd thing about most jeans sold in Mexico is they label the waist size but not the length. Most are high-water on me.

Riders are the only non-length jeans that extend far enough. It’s close, but close enough. And they cost less than 25 bucks. Yahoo! That’s my ballpark.

Before moving over the Rio Bravo in those now-distant days, I was addicted to Hanes drawers. Boxer-briefs, they call them, which is a contradiction but the Mad Men can say whatever they wish to sell stuff.

When we visited Texas regularly, something we’ve not done since 2008, I always brought back a nice supply of Hanes boxer-briefs. But God knows when we’ll next be in the United States (something that interests my child bride far more than it interests me), so I’ve branched out into new skivvy territory.

Fruit of the Loom.

They’re just as good. One shouldn’t get too goofy about underwear.

Nobody much sees them anyway. Just so they don’t ride up.