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Brian Henry
Diary of a Wise Latina
June 3 – Ha! Look at the foolish white man. Putting his mangoes in the bottom of hisshopping cart. Every wise Latina knows that you put the mangoes at the top of the cartin the little tray, so that their vivid, juicy texture is not crushed out of them by the weightof your canned refried beans and laundry detergent. If only he had consulted thecollective knowledge of my Latin homelands!June 5 – As I sip my
café con leche
(why do they call it a cappuccino in this Latinneighborhood?), I can’t help but notice that the white housewife at the next table isplanning a trip to Cancun on her laptop. She is a typical representative of the un-wiseAnglo people. If she had the wisdom of a true Latina, she would be planning to explorethe beating heart of Mexico’s historic interior. The mystical ruins of the Mayans, hiddenin the jungle where the scent of banana wafts through the air. Besides, the MayanHoliday Inn has a great stay-3-nights-get-1-free offer this time of year, and they have afree breakfast buffet with
huevos rancheros
. All you can eat. I truly pity her.June 8 – It’s sometimes a trial to be such a wise Latina! Everything that passes beforemy eyes seems to scream
cuan loco
! At the organic food store today, the African-American woman at the counter tried to sell me butternut squash
enchiladas
. Who ever heard of putting butternut squash in an
enchilada
? My
abuela
Conchita would be rollingover in her 
tumba
. The woman had the nerve to become quite irate when I told her thatshe was prostituting the Latino heritage. She shouted in her loud, urban-contemporaryvoice that she was not a whore, and the tubby store manager was instantly called over.Soon a whole crowd of ignorant
gringos
had gathered around, but they wouldn’t listen tomy pleas for 
chorizo
and
barbacoa enchilada
choices.
 
Tonight I will pray to the HolyVirgin for patience.June 10 – My pale-faced, angry Irish neighbor with the torn T-shirt is on his politicalwarpath again. This time he is turning his ire on my bold Latino
hermanos
. Some youngboys in the neighborhood, trying to express their vivid Latino heritage in thishomogenous, suffocating suburb, engaged in a proud display of Mexican culture in thepark. But my neighbor claims that their gunplay was ‘gang activity’ and a sign of ‘localdrug cartels’. If only he had the life experience of a wise Latina! On the
haciendas
and
 pampas
of the Old Country, a man who did not know how to use his gun was no better than an untutored girl, a sissy boy, fit only for making
mole
sauce at home, while hisman-husband went off to kill a wolf for dinner. Some traditions must pass across theborders and impregnate this New World, or all of us will suffer the vacuity of the flat anduncultured. I must consider starting a blog.June 13 – This may be my last entry in my beloved diary for some time. Tomorrow Iwalk into the prison of the white man, but I enter with my head held high! What was myoffense? I will tell you. My lovely niece, Graciela, was married to my husband’s cousinGregorio in a lovely ranch ceremony, complete with
mariachis
and a wedding keg! Butthe
 policia
were furious, simply because Graciela happens to be 13! Not being Latinasages, they do not realize that in my country, if a woman is not married by the age of 14she is regarded as a
cascara
, a shriveled mushroom drained of its ripe femininity.Gregorio would not look at her twice if she were a wrinkled, mascara-blotched crone of 19! And he has such a successful auto repair shop that Graciela is bound to benefitfrom his largesse. I am unrepentant. I suspect that I will find many other wise Latinas in
of 00

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