Dec. 7, 2008 – This week two of my Mexican friends told me stories that date back to their girlhoods.

One of my friends grew up in Guadalajara. She always loved it when her grandmother came to stay with the family. The older lady was so sweet and gentle. One day, when her grandmother was out, my friend – then about 6 or 7 – went into her grandmother’s guest room for some reason.

She saw a betabel (beet) sitting on a table. It had been cut into and a slice removed from it. Well, she knew that beets belonged in the kitchen so like a good girl, she took it there.

Later that day, the grandmother asked my friend and her sisters, “Darlings, do any of you know what happened to my beet?”

My friend said yes, she had taken it back to the kitchen. The grandmother explained, ever so kindly, that she used the beet as makeup, to put some color in her cheeks.

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The other story happened right here in San Juan Cosalá, or at least it began here. This particular friend of mine has lived here, in this village, all her life. Before she or her sisters were married, they all lived at home. One sister worked as a maid in Ajijic.

The sister – let’s call her Patricia, since that is not her name – took the bus to work very early every morning. Most of her fellow passengers were young fellows from Jocotepec, also on their way to work.

One morning Patricia overslept and the first thing she knew, the bus was stopped outside her house, honking for her. Mario, the driver, knew she belonged on that bus. She jumped up, tossed on some clothing, grabbed a rebozo (shawl) that was lying over a chair, and ran out to the bus.

Mario teased her a little but what do you expect? But then, once in Ajijic,as she began to get off the bus, Mario asked her about the adornment dangling from the back of her rebozo. She didn’t know what he was talking about, so she took off the shawl to look.

There was a large sostén (bra) attached to the shawl, stuck on by its fasteners. It wasn’t hers; she was quite slender. As my friend told the story, a ripple of amusement ran down the seats of the bus as Patricia got off.

Meanwhile, back home, my friend said that their cousin visiting from California was looking everywhere for her bra. “Where did you leave it?” she asked. “Right here on this chair,” her cousin said indignantly. And of course it wasn’t till Patricia got home from work that evening that the item was returned to its owner.

“And did Mario tease Patricia about that afterwards?” I asked. “Por supuesto,” said my friend, as she stopped giggling over her memories. The best translation of that phrase in this context would be: You better believe it.