While everyone else watched The Crocodile Hunter, you were raised by one.
He’s got the blowgun to prove it.
That “hunter” gave you a machete for your 5th birthday present.
Mamá loved that one.
Every wall in the house was a different color.
And he can’t stand to be in your white-washed apartment. Is he allergic to blanco?
He regularly tricked you into eating the spiciest chiles.
I swear that was child abuse.
Every meal had to include rice and beans…
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Even breakfast when all you wanted was pancakes…just once.
The house smelled like fresh food every hour of the day.
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If you recommended eating out, dad looked at you like you were crazy.
And the house also smelled like rotting food every hour of the day.
How did he not notice?
The yard looked like a jungle.
If you suggested weeding, he got teary.
His childhood stories sounded like Mowgli’s memoirs.
“…and when I got to the top of the mango tree, there was a viper waiting for me!”
And your suffering NEVER, EVER could compare.
He’s survived flesh eating caterpillars and a volcanic eruption…he’s not impressed you broke a nail.