First off, I must say, the first thing I liked about Carlos was his accent. I heard him speak before I'd even seen him, so the accent was my first clue. And his accent is odd and wonderful, and somewhat difficult to place. He was born and raised in Mexico so he has that Spanish-type accent, i.e. Vicks Vapor Rub becomes Bick Boppa Rue. But, his paternal grandfather was from England, so Carlos pronounces girlfriend as gullfriend.
I fell in love with that accent. Which is why I can tell these stories:
I'm painting the foyer in the house. It was a wacky shade of red, with blue slate floor tiles, and, well, it always looked a little too Fourth Of July. I mean, I'd burst into You're A Grand Old Flag whenever I went in there. So, I decided to paint it. I removed the furniture and the paintings and cleaned the walls. I looked for some Spackle to fill the nail holes, but alas my Spackle was as dried out as a Kathy Griffin peesh. I mentioned to Carlos that we needed some Spackle so I could fill the holes.
Later that day, as he was bathing the Pocket Dog, Carlos said, When I finish, I'll go to Lowe's and get the potty.
The potty you said you wanted.
You said we needed potty.
For the walls in the foyer.
That's what I said........Potty.
Over breakfast the next day I was telling Carlos about these two women, and their much younger, obviously gay, male friends, that I'd seen in Smallville. I was saying that a friend of mine had said that when a woman reaches a certain age and dates younger men, she is no longer a cougar, but rather a sabertooth tiger.
Carlos gave me that look that dogs give their owners when you say something odd. Head cocked to one side. Quizzical look in his eyes.
I paused and studied that look.
Cougars, I said.
Do know what I mean when I say cougars...like the TV show Cougar Town?
You mean the animal, right?