I’m in big trouble.
First, I should tell you that we’re both very excited because we are soon to get two cats. I’ve been in touch with a shelter not far from us. I completed and emailed our application. And we are now being evaluated — to see if we are suitable. I am assuming we are.
Late this afternoon, Jerry had a great idea. “Let’s go for a walk to Valor for some churros and chocolate,” he suggested. It would be a pleasant walk, about 800 meters (or 1/2 mile). And I have been craving Valor’s churros and chocolate ever since our failed attempt to get there during Semana Santa. So, we took off in the slightly cool, slightly humid afternoon air. A half mile there and a half mile back — a very comfortable distance in this kind of weather. We wouldn’t even work up a sweat.
Less than fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Valor and sat outside to enjoy our churros and chocolate, which were even better than we remembered them. We ordered two “grandes” (which apparently means “ginormous” at Valor) and two sides of water. We both felt slightly queasy by the time we finished. I told Jerry I would have been fine had it not been for that bottle of water.
From what I could find on the web, the cat rescue center is “very close” to Valor — perhaps five minutes further (about half again the distance from our house to Valor). I thought it would be a great way to burn off some of those churros-and-chocolate calories, but I didn’t suggest it to Jerry thinking he’d never go for it. However, the subject of the cats came up as we started for home. I mentioned that the center was “very close” and Jerry said he wouldn’t mind the little extra walk just to see what it was like. So, I turned us around and headed toward the shelter, which as I do believe I mentioned before was “very close.”
I made a few wrong turns. But I kept telling Jerry we were “very close. It’s just a typical roundabout Sevillano walk.” I pointed out some beautiful buildings we had never seen before.
“Oh, and look, it’s the start of bull-fighting season. Check out all the people.”
“Oh, look at the TV camera up on the crane.”
“Hey, there’s that portion of the old city wall I told you about.”
“You see, that’s the street called Calle Dos de Mayo, which has nothing to do with our restaurant.”
“And there’s the place that has the ‘best chocolate cake in the world.’ Look at all the street performers setting up for the evening. There’s that violinist again. God, he plays beautifully.”
Wiping the sweat from the back of his neck for the umpteenth time, San Geraldo muttered, “Stop trying to distract me. I know what you’re doing. And, by the way, I think your definition of ‘very close’ is genetic.”
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I finished by saying how great it was that we had burned off all those calories. San Geraldo was not amused.
But the minute we got home, he offered to serve me a plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers. The man really IS a saint.