Cock-A-Doodle-Do!!!

Day 145

Up at the ungodly hour of 5 am this morning, I wish the neighbor could convince his damn rooster to sleep in on Sundays.  Hey wait a minute, my neighbor doesn’t have a rooster.  That must have been me crowing.

The cap’n and I and our friends, Yack (That’s how our friend Gaby pronounces Jack, and it fits) and Barbara, decided to go down the Bull Pen yesterday evening for “Beer Friday On Saturday” (I’ll explain that in another post sometime).  We all promised we would only have one since we vowed to get home and cook dinner and stay at home for a change.  When we got there, a couple that rents a casa down the calle from us, Peggy and Joe, were sitting at a table up front.  We said, “Hi” and the cap’n stopped to chat with them while Yack and Babs and I took a table next to them.  I’ve never really warmed up to this couple, one reason is they don’t seem to associate with many of the expats from our village, instead they hang out with a group of fellow Canadians in Chixculub.  But the big reason is because last year, a couple weeks after New Year’s, we ran into them at the Bodega in Progreso (that is the main grocery store), we’d just walked into the store and Joe was standing at the service counter.

“I heard about your New Years Eve,” he boomed to me in decibels loud enough to be heard across El Gulfo to Galveston.

“Oh really,” I asked, trying to find an escape route through the crowd maneuvering their shopping carts through the entrance.

“I heard you were plastered!!” boomed the human foghorn again.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been giving them a wide berth ever since.

We stayed true to our word yesterday and only had one drink each, as I was getting in the car to leave I realized I was carrying the glass from the bar.  When I went back in to return it, Patrick, the owner, was at Peggy and Joe’s table.  I went over and sat the still half-full glass down on their table.

“Has that got rum in it?” Joe boomed. “If it does, I’ll drink it.”

“Nope, just Coke-lite,” I replied nonchalantly.

“No rum?” the crestfallen Joe asked in bewildered disbelief.

“ ‘Fraid not.” I patted his hand and left.

My neck’s a little sore this morning from the strain of holding it up so high.

So today I’m just out there doing my best not to get too cocky and praying for low humidity (I’ve put my elf outfit back on and I’m making peanut brittle to sale at a bazaar to build up the kitty for next Christmas’s toy drive).