Spanglish Page #5

Flor?

Me go.

- Okay.

- I'll take you to the bus stop.

Sorry, I didn't even help you with the door.

No, what I meant was...

My mother did not understand

her male boss.

He seemed as upset as she was

over what had been done to Bernice...

Sh*t!

... and yet had done nothing.

I am running out of excuses

for the lady of the house!

But, man, Bernice's final is tomorrow.

She didn't need this one.

And just the look on her face

when she got the gifts!

Like for one second she thought...

all her problems with her mother

had been solved!

He appeared to be a good man...

but to someone with first-hand knowledge

of Latin macho...

he seemed to have

the emotions of a Mexican woman.

She had no idea of how to react,

except to flee.

What're you doing? We're still moving.

I'll take you all the way to the bus stop.

You got to let me take you all the way.

I'll take you.

All the way.

How weird was this ride?

Sorry. I'm sorry.

Yes, you are released. Yes.

Bye-bye.

A simple request from my mother

startled me.

Her rules were bending.

She was losing her battle

to remain uninvolved with the Claskys.

"Try it on."

Try...

Just. "Just try it on."

Just try on.

Just.

Just.

There is one particular cultural difference...

which I wish to explore academically

at Princeton.

American women, I believe...

actually feel the same as Hispanic women

about weight.

A desire for the comfort of fullness.

And when that desire

is suppressed for style...

and deprivation allowed to rule...

dieting, exercising American women...

Left!

... become afraid of everything

associated with being curvaceous...

such as wantonness, lustfulness...

Left!

... sex, food...

motherhood.

All that is best in life.

Wow!

Taste, she has.

Just try it on.

When did you learn to speak English?

Just try it on.

It's too tight. It doesn't fit.

Bernice, just try it on.

It's too small. I'm too big.

- Just try it on!

- Okay.

I'll show you.

Thanks.

Lovely way to start the day.

The world's most trim Mexican

learns her first sentence...

and uses it to watch me grunt my way...

into a...

- It fits!

- Okay.

No.

Thanks.

Whatever happened to Frre Jacques

or Itsy-Bitsy Spider?

- Make room.

- I know.

But every time he has a nightmare,

I teach him one of my old songs.

That way, his nightmares have a purpose.

But I don't have to sing it for anyone.

Right, you're clear on that.

How many did you sell of this song,

Grandma?

He likes to know that stuff.

She was huge.

Here goes.

76,000, which is great for a jazz album.

Jesus.

F*** you.

Dad!

For Christ's sake, why are you screaming?

Why, crazy father,

why aren't you screaming?

I'm working on it.

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