WHO INVITED THE BOURAIMAS?

I was expecting my carpenter. He was bringing me my “dishwashing station”. A beautiful table with two, perfect, basin-sized holes planned, measured, built, delivered, paid for and already put to use in the record time of less than 15 hours. (WHO NEEDS A DISHWASHER WHEN YOU HAVE TWO PEFECT BASIN HOLES AT YOUR EXACT HEIGHT!?!).
Instead, at about 8pm tonight, I got a Toyota truck full of 12+ people complete with bottles of alcohol, larger-than-Shaq bags of charcoal and several pots large enough to feed the small army that just joined me in the quiet sanctuary of my concession. Immediately the people filed out the truck almost as if they were an actual army and dispersed to their respective tasks. A squadron of four women went to work on setting up Operation: Cookhouse while another two cadets got started on sweeping the main house (next door to mine) and its enclosed patio. The officers (i.e. Men) finished unloading the ridiculously Tetris-perfect packed canvas-roofed truck and then began tearing up every single inch of the ground with hoes and hacking up and pruning what vegetation was thriving at the time. The remaining men (there were about four or five left) got to drinking and watching Macromusica music videos on their fake leather couches.
My carpenter showed up about 30 minutes after the circus act was initiated and I was cowering in my house watching the spectacle. Without issue, he maneuvered past the cooking congregation in the outdoor overhand area (like a car port, but with no possible way for a car to access it) and put my prized table in its ordained spot. I timidly went out to him (the allure of my creation coming to life was too strong) and I spoke to him for a while then got to cleaning dishes!! In my newfound glee I dared a conversation with the ladies behind me. Too bad none of them spoke English and a translator was called out. Here came a shirtless, potbellied man who took this opportunity to invite me in for a drink. Not wanting to anger or ostracize myself from my proprietor’s family, I acquiesced and entered the homestead to watch music videos and drink some whiskey (as it turned out to be the offered drink).
Now, as I was standing there against the wall, sipping the straight crap whisky, and making pleasant responses to the conversation directed at me (“This is his band,” my host pointed to a large guy sitting on the couch, who was not present even once in the video) and nodded in pleasant disbelief when it was mentioned that Amanda had been BFF with the guys on the couch closest me (I inwardly doubted Amanda had been all that great of pals with The Shirtless Ones as they were more a nuisance than a welcome interruption to me, but then again people can certainly surprise you). After several moments of politesse I began to look for a way out. Searching up, side, side, down, I came across a horrible discovery. NO WONDER they were so into me coming to hang out and then with the whisky! My face flushed a good thirty times hotter than already possible in this equatorial hot bath of a country. For no sooner had I glance down than I realized that my comfortable relaxation of earlier this evening on my couch had followed me to my current station – aka my pants were unbuttoned and unzipped and perfectly open and ready for scrutiny. Oh Horror of Horrors!! Here I was, the vanilla ice queen of personalities next door with the body language of an open invitation to a party in my pants. I assume you may all imagine now just how unprepared I was for the sudden arrival of this cluster of visitors. My mind went racing back to all the conversations I have been having since I left my house: my neighbor’s to ask if he knew who the newcomers were; my carpenter when he came with the table; the women cooking outside; and now here I am in the den with men watching music videos and drinking hard liquor.
I think at this point I have suffered a momentary social amnesia that allows me to still go out in public because I don’t quite recall how I made my escape from that situation, but somehow it was made and I was back in my house without any major catastrophes. Perhaps they didn’t notice, I told myself, then I recalled with burning agony that it was not so and that I should resign myself to staying in the rest of the night and however long it took for them to finish off the crop of peace and quiet then leave in search of the next great disruption like the locusts they were. Luckily I have a stockpile of instant potatoes and a few remaining foil bags of chicken and tuna so I imagined I would have a good 72-120 hours of provisions left before I would have to eat Cal and then turn against myself. So what if in my spare time I get really over exaggerative? They were gone by the next day anyway (had a funeral to go to), but they stole my machete in the meantime. Now they’re gone and I have my quiet back, at least until the next extended family member kicks the can. And with this funky weather that could be at any moment. I won’t know until I hear the sound of the Toyota tank rolling its way down the highway.