Pass the tortillas

became a Mexican citizen today.

I feel more macho. I plan to grow the moustache longer, either upward with two cocky swirls, or downward and bushy.

Though married, your new hombre is planning on lassoing a girlfriend or two or three. It’s the Mexican way. Well, maybe not. I’m not all that frisky.

I’ll buy a guitar and croon in the plaza with my pals.

I’ll purchase a big truck, drive fast, always in a rush. I’ll change lanes with a carefree abandon, eyes closed. The stereo will be full blast.

I’ll sip mezcal, chewing the bottle worms.

Cutting back on chicken and veggies, I’ll chew more cheese, bifstek and chiles, perhaps gaining a paunch and a cocky walk.

I’ll need cowboy boots, a huge sombrero and charro pants, jingling spurs, a pack of cheroots in the slit of my vaquero pocket.

There will be Brylcreem in my hair, the slick, sexy look.

Change is good, and I’m swaggering into the future.

This feels really fine, mis amigos, so watch out!

* * * *

(Note: I became a Mexican in 2005. This does not replace U.S. citizenship, of course. Many folks have dual citizenship.)

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