If you light a candle & ask for the return of the love of your life,
be sure to include name, zip code, and identifying birthmarks

By Woncha Telmé Moore

Manitos y manitas, there I was en una casa ajena in a city not my own left to cook a supper for a handful of amigos and amigas. I'd volunteered for the job and had been to the market to gather the supper preparations, and bought, of course, a loaf of fine bread and a couple of bottles of wine pressed from splendid Australian grapes.

As I slaved over the cutting board and the O'Keefe and Merrit, I was having myself a Julia Child moment and poured just a nip so the wine could breathe a little. On and on I cooked, raiding the hostesses' gabinetes for this or that extrambolic especia and this or that gadget to faster more better make florets out of common vegetables.

Before long -- the stereo blaring Bob Dylan's Love and Theft, which as some of you know, is the recent story of my life -- I just felt like dancing, which I did all across the oak floors in my socks. I stopped now and again to re-load the CD player, now with Shakira's Dirty Laundry, which frankly inspired me to add a little more wine to the stew. One for the stew, two for me. Y que no me voy fijando que the CD is actually called Laundry Service.

Qué rico the thick delicious night breeze that rolled in through the tall windows and all across the beautiful long room. As I waited, I tried to read some of the self-help books of my hosts, but I couldn't remember my mantra and I already felt so mellow. I also tried to be nice to the cat which made my eyes water and my throat constrict.

The dinner guests and the owners of the casa ajena were a wee bit late, but that didn't stop me from regaling them with toasts. Thanks to the Virgen de Guadalupe, whom I also toasted fervently, that they finally showed up. The stew had become awash in vino, and I must say, I was too, three cheats to the wind.

And speaking of the Virgen de Guadalupe, if you light a candle with the image of her on the front and ask her for the return of the love of your life, be sure to be specific with a name and everything -- even a zip code and birthmarks -- because chances are the virgencita will send you back the one she best thinks should be the love of your life.

Sorry about the big wind-up when you are dying to know what this vieja tamalera has to say about high sociegate.

Cheater-cheater, pumpkin eater. Mr. Calabaza sure knows how to blow a relationship that seemed to be really good for him. It was so convincing, the deepness of it and the care he accorded it, but alas, he fell off the deep end of fidelity. And we thought he could swim.

So, Srita. Bachelorette, now who you gonna ask to the big upcoming affaire? You didn't stay married to that fool for so long so that you could end up with someone just like him. Te aconsejo, be adventurous. That slightly younger one is a cutie pie, and lookit that full head of hair.

Amor de lejos, amor de espejos. Oh, these two are so cute the way one or the other of them is in the rearview mirror all the time waving bye-bye.

I don't want to be the one to tell you that all those jealousy fits you were having were right on the moolah. It all makes sense now. I hate it when they deny so smoothly that there is any substance to your allegations, and then -- ¡watchale! -- you are odd girl out and La Sugar Baby's hot little car is now in your parking space.

Was it really a corporate decision that removed her boyfriend from the company's roster of vice-presidents? Or was it his after-hours interest in his secretary?