Flaco asked me over and over for a fideo crudo the other day. I thought he wanted to eat it, so I kept sending him away and telling him to wait until the noodles were cooked. He has odd requests, let me tell you, so I didn't think much of it. Raw onion and soup for breakfast? Oh sure. But his insistence on this one was a little surprising. I finally gave him a dry noodle and sent him on his way, when I was met by a resounding silence - a sure sign of mischief. So I left the kitchen and went looking for him, and there he was, standing on his tiptoes, using the noodle like a bobby pin, trying to jig open a locked door. He looked over his shoulder at me and curled his lips up over his teeth, trying to hide a smile, and asked (with what almost seemed like sincerity) "No te gustan mis travesuras, mamita?" Claro que me gustan, mijo, me encantan! I said, caught up in a moment of blind love and stupidity.
The shoe full of hot cocoa the next day should have come as no surprise.
2 weeks ago