No. 23: The Things She Carries in Her Giant Purse


1-WCWE30gYyC6kdXdeHsx1dQ

My wife, Vicky, is an immigrant. When we met eleven years ago, she had already been living in the United States 13 years. I thought she spoke perfect English, but when dessert came she said, “Let’s dive onto this pie.”

She told me she’s from Venezuela. I’m from Miami and knew nothing about Venezuela. I said, “South America, right?”

She said, “That’s good. I’ve dated Gringas who think it’s near Greece.” (READ FULL ESSAY HERE…)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

*

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>