crossing the border

I don't need to take a Mexican citizenship test; I have already crossed over.

That is the only explanation for a recent event -- at least, the only explanation that would pass the rigors of Occam's razor.  Let me tell you a tale.  And you be the judge.

Just before I headed out the door to Baja, I was in my bathroom taking care of my morning ablutions.  I grabbed a stick of deodorant and whipped it out of the medicine cabinet.

Unfortunately, what I grabbed was the cap, and it did exactly what it was engineered to do when subjected to centrifugal force.  It released.  Leaving me with a cap in my hand, and the body smashed against the bathroom floor.

It may have survived a crash landing in a northern bathroom.  But Mexican bathrooms are hard places.

The result?  The plastic on the right corner of the body was smashed open like a watermelon at a Gallagher concert.

Five years ago, it would have made its way to my Salem trash can.  But I am a new man down Mexico way.

I looked at it and saw an obvious use for this almost-new stick of deodorant.  I could use my finger to dip out a daily supply for ready application.  And, as a bonus, the cap still fit. 

It was perfectly serviceable and worth keeping.  The opinion any self-respecting Mexican would have chosen.  So, there it sits in my Mexican medicine cabinet awaiting my return.

When I sit down to take that citizenship test, I expect some bonus points.  After all, I have begun to think like a true Mexican.