Nice Girls Don't Wear Cha-cha Heels!

As you may well realise, Dear Reader, I currently reside in a Third World country. It has it's advantages, but it has it's downers, too. For example, woke up rather early today, it being my day off and all, and as I staggered to the shower, the water was cut off not only in my flat, but the entire colonia. (Neighborhood for you nameless assholes that only speeky the engleesh.) Well, I was forced to take a sponge bath and trust me it doesn't entirely satisfy. It's as useful as giving a blow job to a flaccid penis. Now, for some arcane reason the high tribunal muckity-mucks of Tijuana turn off the water once a day every week. Of coarse that day varies from week to week and today is that day. So, I am forced to stroll around town with that oh so sticky feeling. Son cosas de la vida, cabron y cabrones...

As I sat at my table drinking coffee, eating a slice of pound cake, and listening to Morrisey moan on about how everyday is like Sunday (True dat.) there came a rapping and a tapping at my chamber door. So, to my door I slinked only to find Alfredo standing there in the bright sunlight. I invited him in and asked if he'd like a cup of coffee.

"No." He said sitting at my table. "Just a glass of milk."

As I placed the glass in front of him, I poured the milk, and asked, "So, what brings you over here, handsome." I didn't wait for an answer. "How's the wifie?" He saw the look in my eyes and it was a mingling of hate and sadness. I still had feelings for this guy. Even though he treated me like a dog. I still love him. I ooze passion. I am a very emotional person if I care for someone. Unfortunately, I always care for those who don't care back.

"She's okay...we are fighting still." He said meekly. " I want to apologise for the other night...that was wrong of me."

I choked down a mouthful of coffee, "That's okay, Alfredo. I know you love her. Who am I to come in between you and your family. My concern is the happiness of my friends and I am willing to make a few sacrifices to keep that friendship pure and stable." (I want to thank the Academy...)

Alfredo stared at me long and hard and then without warning he reached over the table and holding my head started kissing me passionately. His hands found their way down my pajama pants. Next thing I know, he whips out his big nasty and we are doing the horizontal mambo on the living room rug. After about an hour of pure homosexual hanky panky, Alfredo used my chest and stomach for a cum rag. As we lay side by side and our heavy breathing calmed down, he whispered, "I've got to go."

"What? Why?" I pleaded. I felt like an elephant just sat on my heart!

"I just...I gotta go." He said cleaning off his penis with my dish towel. "I'll see you sometime." And with that was out the door.

I sat on the floor lost in darkness and confusion. I was a bit bummed, but I guess I shall get over it. I cleaned myself the best I could with my drinking water from the cooler and with empty scrotum and sallow heart I went shopping. Being a high falootin' homo, shopping is the best therapy.

I stopped off at the shoe store by my flat and I heard the funniest thing. It was in Spanish, so I'll translate. A mother and her daughter was checking out shoes. Apparently from snatches of dialog I understood the girls birthday was coming up and mother was going to by her any kind of footwear she desired. The girl picked up these horrid black platform things with gold straps. The mother looked them over and said, "You aren't getting those."

"But I like them." The girl pleaded.

As in which the mother retorted, "Nice girls don't wear cha-cha heels."

If I ever make a documentary about my life the title will be "Nice Girls Don't Wear Cha-cha Heels."

That's brilliant.