Maricel's aunt seems to think that there's something odd about deciding to move in with some dude from a foreign land that you met on the Internet. Even after you've gone to the trouble of spending a couple of days with him in Las Vegas. I don't get it. Sounds like a plan to me. Poor woman, I totally understand why she's calling here at 6 a.m. our time and yelling so loud that I could hear every word of it. Apparently Maricel's cousin has spilled the beans. I'm sure the news seriously ruined dinner. She pointed out to Maricel that girls who move to America to take up with strange men often end up dead or in dire circumstances. Although all of the cases she seemed to be citing were mail-order brides. I guess I could have brought up that more than one guy has ended up dead at the hands of some girl he's imported. But that would mean that Maricel and I are both idiots. Wisely, Maricel did not argue much. She let her Aunt yell until she was hoarse and then politely told her that she appreciated the concern. Then she told her that she was substitute teaching and thinking about furthering her education. She pointed out that I was not some creepy old man hoping to find an Asian sex slave, but a rather harmless comic book dealer who was completely under thumb. (AM NOT!)
While she was on the phone, I went down to the bakery and picked up some doughnuts. When I got back, Maricel had gotten off the phone and put on some coffee.
"She has a point." I said.
"She's absolutely right." Maricel said. "But she's wrong, too."
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