Things were tender,
and I am not talking about the filete

By Woncha TelmÈ Moore

I can’t help it as I write this column and you read it, if the chancla fits. Please, don’t feel obliged to call, as so many of you do, para entregarte for this or that fall from social grace. You made your bed, now quit jumping on it. Let sleeping dogs lie. Do they know how to tell the truth?

Oh, where was I going with this? SÈpa la madre.

As you will read, I have been busy hitting the best bus stops to glean what I can from the housekeepers of the rich and famous.

Those poor middle schoolers were going about their Fill the Chancla fundraiser effort at a busy intersection when the matronly driver of a new Mercedes bore down on them and asked their adult sponsor, "Are you with the Pope?" "Why, no," replied the cool as a cuke sponsor, which disarmed the vituperative and ready to spew driver. I guess she drove on to give somebody else an unsolicited piece of her mind.

And speaking of chanclas, it was raining chanclas across town at Richie Rich’s house of cards. Things came tumbling down for this Lothario more quickly than he could wiggle out of the pruebas with which la mujer presented him. The den was set up like a gallery of living proof -- large black and whites of license tags, Him-and-the-Hon smooching when they thought no one was around, pics of both cars at the NoTel Motel. The wife had contemplated setting it up on Power Point, but opted instead for a laser pointer. He was, by all accounts, speechless, and may remain so until the sure-to-be-costly settlement of assets.

Outclassed. This deb doyenne has moved far beyond her peers and may soon be sporting a Dra. before her sweet little name. We support that!

Have you ever noticed that our boy, he who dyes and plucks, has a Zoolander mien (or is it mean) about him? Those sunken cheek with pucker miradas are a bit much. If you hang around him long, you’ll start twitching about and looking like you also just got goosed.

Typo! Our little exec finally had to tell the willing to please secre she was not his tipo.

RincÛn de la Vieja. These two were so cute at El RincÛn del Viejo, all in love, all in lust. There was an aura about them. Things were tender, and I am not talking about the filete.

Don Doble Remolque has been making the rounds again, but we sure didn't expect to see him at this downtown nightspot. Was that really a cape he was wearing?