Information came to the comadre in the most
unexpected and extraordinary way

By Woncha Telmé Moore

What are the chances that these two, once so in love decades ago, would meet on the Bridge of Sighs and find each other again, she on divorce ricochet in Europe, he the chaperone for his daughter and a threesome of amiguitas touring Italy? The Internet is burning with missives of long distance love from here to Cow Town. Manitas y manitos, stand by for details of this journey of love diverted but now on track.
Loved ya -- See ya! Gullible's Travels are over. This dear comadre is still sacudiéndose from the nasty spill off the whirlwind of last summer's romance. If it seemed in all those months of superlative moments too good to be true, then it probably was. The comadre has spent considerable time trying to make sense of being bucked off this wild horse, that upon closer scrutiny had some real issues -- big unresolved lifetime burrs under the saddle, a bad mouth, foundered hooves, a very long tail, a well-exercised imagination, and an exaggerated, delusional sense of self. And speaking of colas, and I don't mean the bubbly, sipping kind, information came to the comadre in the most unexpected and extraordinary way, the Internet, information which put a decisive end to denying the truth and believing the lies.
She's survived being married to all Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse -- Famine, Pestilence, Destruction, and Death -- and it's time to move on. Though her amigas intimas are quite worried, I think she can descend from her ivory tower of wound-tending, refuge, and forgetting to get on with life.
Handsome though he is, he was boring her with the kinetic theory of gases as they sat in a seemingly romantic huddle at this serene northside eatery. We all know she prefers a man in the field to theory, no matter how guapísimo is the conveyor of knowledge.
Knee-jerk (an automatic, unthinking response) is what this doc got when he became a little too fresh. What's with that, Doc?
That Lhasa apso look might play well in Tibet, but honey, let's get you to the hairdresser before the social season kicks into first gear.
I heard her. She called it milk of the Blessed Mother. All I saw was a bottle of cheap white German wine.
He lies like the butcher's dog, so aware of the delicious morsels around him. He remains a gent.
Lightning is more likely to strike in the same place than not, so forget the aphorism that it never strikes twice. You, my dear, whether or not you can admit it, have been struck twice.
Este pobre. He thought he had found real love in this chachita that made his glasses fog. Well, it worked as long as it could. His buds feel so badly for him that they are going easy on the "¡Qué no te dije, buey!" Grim is his realization that the only way he is going to wake up with a smile on his face is to sleep with a coat hanger in his mouth.