"Of course it is, apá, but I'm not worried about finding a man. In fact, I think I found one."
"Where?" said her mother.
"How?" said her father.
"At the European Grill on Atlantic. I went there to eat on payday with Ramona. He owns the place, is handsome, and has money." These last words were spoken with the anticipatory and sparkling eyes of a Méjicana two weeks into a rigorous vegetarian diet while gazing upon a plate of steak tacos with pineapple with a quick marinade of soy sauce, garlic and ginger flavors to skirt the steak, all there for the taking if she played her cards right.
"Ramona?" said her mother. "¿Esa? She's looking for Mr. Money, forget about Right or Wrong."
"I hear she's aggressive. How you going to compete with her," said her father.
"Good question," said Glenda.
There was a pause as her mother and father waited for a response. When none seem to be arriving, her mother pointed out the lack thereof.
"It's never easy getting a guy to admit he's crazy about you."
There was another pause. This one was longer since all involved were not sure whose turn it was. Again, there was not a bush that Irma Surjete ever beat around. She again gave voice.
"I say it's best to look for a hard-working man. This guy sounds like he does not sweat."
"Why is that the standard? I like my men to smell nice, not smell up the air."
"Look at your dad, he works hard but always smells nice."
"Yeah, but he works in a bakery. He has always smelled like muffins, rolls and cinnamon swirls."
"Entonces marry someone who works as a florist," said her mother loftily as if stating a solution to a formidable problem in quantum mechanics.
"I want Claudio Torandado," she told her parents acting as if she were a petulant little girl wanting a Bebe Jumeau antique doll and no other. She left them swinging in the wind.
Meanwhile, Ramona was petting her sister Octavia's very flat-faced Persian cat Turbo and telling Octavia about Claudio Torandado. She painted a perfect picture, which her sister then proceeded to scribble over.
"You have never even met him. How do you know you want to spend your life with him?"
"A girl knows these things. Don't you read romance novels?"
"Well, you should. You'll see there is plenty of loving going on in the world."
"Yeah, for $34.95 hard cover, $24.95 paperback and $15.99 Kindle."
"You'll see. You meet the right guy and your college dreams will evaporate like yesterday's rain puddle."
"I'm going to be a mathematician in the theoretical physicists' field even if it takes me ten years. Whether there is some guy with me at my death bed matters little to me."
"Octavia, don't you want kids?"
"Sure. But not before I get my degree and am entrenched in numbers up to my nariz in some tiny cubicle at NASA."
"Well, the only number I need is one, and he is the one."
"Didn't you say Glenda is also fascinated with the orangutan?"
"Sure. But she'll get over it."
"Me nailing Claudio."
"What if she nails him?"
"He's not her type by a mile."
"Why are you? You and she are the same age, same height, nearly same weight if you discount your pizza intake, same job, live in the same barrio and both of you drive Toyota Corollas, although hers is white and yours red."
"That's what sets us apart. I live a red life, she a bland white one."
"Paint your lives how you like, I see a blank canvas. Tell me then, are you both going to drive up to him and offer him un raite and see whose car he jumps into?"