On Thursday, my husband woke up and made coffee before going to work. I heard him struggling to work the lighter, but it apparently did its job as I found cold coffee on the stove when I finally rolled out of bed. Which was somewhere around lunch time, so I was hungry.
I decided on soup, so I put water in a pot to boil. I went for the lighter. Click . . click . . . click . . . nothing. Again and again I tried. Then I gave up and went for our matches.
Missing! No matches anywhere in our house! Hmmm, not good.
I went and sulked on the sofa. I could have taken a cab to Bodega, bought a new lighter and did some grocery shopping. But I didn’t want to tempt myself with all the things I could buy. I settled for the bakery; I’m a gordita, nothing wrong with a hearty lunch of cake and chocolate.
On my way back, the corner store was open. “They probably have matches,” I thought to myself. I walked myself in the door: pure confidence. Then realized I had no idea how to say matches in Spanish. So I used the vocabulary I had.
“Discuple, tiene cosas para poner fuego en mi estufa?”
The woman laughed a little, then handed me some matches.
I consider this a victory.