Questa è Enida

There’s a big dent on my car. So big, and yet nobody notices it. The last few weeks I have been debating whether to just sell the car, get a brand-spanking new one, or take it to the best repairman I know, spend as much as I need to… to make it look like what it used to. You know the saying? “If you look good, you feel good.” You do whatever you have to do to make you feel good because you actually do something about it.

And there is a huge hole on my favorite dress. So huge, and yet I have to point it out before anyone takes notice of it. I haven’t done anything about the hole as I am still thinking whether to get a new one made up exactly like it, or to get it fixed by a professional tailor. I know one brilliant designer who would do wonders. But he would cost me 5 if not 15 new dresses just to get the hole patched, mended, and concealed! I don’t know. I keep looking and staring at the hole these days. I think it’s getting bigger.

I also have a daughter – a sweet little button, I tell ya – just as beautiful as an angel, who has a scar on her forehead. It’s gigantic to me, though it can always be covered with her gorgeous curly locks. It’s obviously un-noticeable to those who don’t know the story behind the teasing, the chasing around with her big brother and the bumping of head almost through the kitchen wall on that sunny winter morning. So, naturally I would be thinking whether I should get that scar removed or whether I should get rid of that sweet little button altogether. I can’t keep a damaged good, can I?

If choices in life were that simple, I would be just happy to press that RESET button and go back to June 8th, 1998 and say “No” to Be’s big hug, late tea at The Melting Pot and that one-week fling of my life. If.