Why Was I Even In Mexico . . . again?

Eighteen months has passed since my last journey to Mexico. The interim has not been uneventful; eight months in University, a new homestead, and the loss of Alex to the Emerald Isle are amongst the activities that have passed. My good fortune as a college instructor has afforded me flight tickets south for a second time. So, with a healthy sense of self-deserving, off I went. On this occasion, I also had the good fortune to be accompanied by the ever-beautiful Amelia for the first five days. In Acapulco we enjoyed para-gliding, horse-back riding, jet-skiing, pina coladas on the beach, and the world famous cliff divers . . . and all in one day. Back near Mexico city, we visited the pyramids and a mercado and achieved some healthy sunburns. After Amelia returned to Canada, I was faced with two more weeks of work in a small town called Ojo de Agua. It has a very rural feel with a typically Mexican mix of wealth and poverty and an enormous number of stray dogs that bark and howl late into the evening. Their cacophony against the warm, bleak landscape creates a haunting ambience of skulking werewolves on a hot Mexican night in a small town. In order to break the monotony, I arranged a class party one Saturday evening with the students in my group. We decided it would be held at the house of a young woman who was married to a doctor. As such, she had ample space, an ample bar, and a karaoke machine. About half of the students in the class came, as did my hosts at the college. It was a delightful evening and we enjoyed a favourite Mexican dish called posoli. Smooth tequila lubricated the karaoke wheels and we all sang until late in the evening. At close to 4am, most of the guests had departed and I was left with my two hosts, the student and her doctor husband. As it turns out, he was a plastic surgeon. I don't know if it was a sociolinguistic barrier that lead to the somewhat awkward comment, or merely a culturally acceptable offer, but at the end of the night, just as we were finally leaving, the doc looked at me with a perfectly straight face and said, (insert strong Mexican accent here) "Ju know. Eef ju retourn to Mehico, I weel feex jour nose for only 10000 pesos. That ees only, like, 1000 canadian dollarss. And ju know what?" (He started to whisper) " For no extra charche, I'll give you a nice beeg fat ass too. Buenos noches. " He demonstrated by waving his hands in a wide berth around his rear. I went back to the college dorm laughing, drunk, . . . and a little disturbed. There's nothing wrong with my ass! I guess I could use a nose job though. Damn, those Mexicans love their 'badonkadonk'.
See you in hell,
Shakes.