Slicing the squash

My machete was made in Brazil

MY CHILD BRIDE wanted to cut a winter squash yesterday to make pastry.

Do you have a machete? she asked.

There are two elements to this scenario that somewhat surprised me. One, I have a wife who asks for a machete. Two, I have a machete.

I bought it years back because I am a Mexican man, and Mexican men have machetes. I keep mine on a top shelf in the closet so I won’t hurt myself. Machetes give me the willies.

So I loaned it to her. She went out to the yard, the stone sidewalk, and split that big fat squash like a Hutu would a Tutsi’s head.

The machete is back in the closet now, and the pastry will go with my child bride downtown this evening where, like one week ago on Christmas eve, she will party most of the night with relatives. And I will sleep alone in peace, which is how I like it.