Now, this may come as quite a surprise to you but my mother was in Mexico last week. Apparently she felt comfortable enough to take a cruise down there even though there is some violence and muggings and kidnappings going on. Rest assured, she would peek her head out of the gangway of the ginormous ship to see if it was safe...and then and ONLY THEN, she would proceed with caution and not trust anyone.
She dawned her Hawaiian shirt, capris, sandals and fanny pack and headed into the port towns in search of the best deals available to tourists (oxymoron, I know). Low and behold, in Cabo she came across the authentic Mexican hangout of Senor Frogs. If anyone went to college in California (or in my case, went to high school in California) has been to Senor Frogs. This is spring break on crack in Mexico. Lots of underage drinking, bikinis, and tequila. Somewhere along the way, my mom ended up in this establishment and let me assure you she is NOT in college nor is she on spring break. She tells me that she "ended up in a conga line." Huh? How do you just end up in conga line? No idea....Then she says "and every time the conga line passed this guy, he squirted stuff in my mouth." This absolutely freaked me out on many levels: 1. What is he squirting in her mouth? 2. WHAT IS HE SQUIRTING IN HER MOUTH??? Even when I asked her if it was tequila, her response was..."I don't know." How do you NOT know if it is tequila? I played through this whole scenario in my mind and at the conclusion of this train wreck I see my mom...face down on the table at Senor Frogs wearing a sarape, a sombrero and her fanny pack. Let's just hope that didn't happen.
The lockdown. (This is NOT a drill)
13 hours ago