Holy Crap, Parte Dos

The last week has had no end to travails, from a serious GI bacterial infection, a head injury and a bad case of strep to a lack of power, frozen debit card, and various other everyday challenges common in Mexico but just enough to push me over the edge. After telling Gregg that this is the worst trip of my life, I decided that I had to change tack: I need to spend more time doing adult things, spend more money — at least as much as is required to make the first thing happen — and start drinking tequila earlier in the day. And to make any time I had with the kids be good time and mutually pleasurable.

With all that in mind, I decided to take the kids down to El Central and have brunch, then wander over to Alhóndigas, a museum we've been meaning to see since we arrived. We had a lovely brunch in which I perfected my deafness as it pertains to a whining tone, and then made our way to the museum. Per usual on this trip, it was closed indefinitely. No problem. A kind gentleman directed us up the hill to the wax museum, filled with 30 historical figures. Both kids, upon hearing "figures", started trembling and saying "no! no mummies!" I reassured them that the figures were just made out of wax, were like dolls, and had never, ever been alive. That we'd see people like Hidalgo, Pipila, Don Quixote - it would be tons of fun. So we paid our $50 and entered the first room.

Holymotherofgod. Not again.

Sure enough, Hidalgo was there. At least his decapitated head. As was Allende's, the head of Jimenez and others who had had their heads displayed in cages outside the Alhóndiga many years ago. Large as life and twice as bloody, in an environment just intimate enough that there was no escape. As the student tour guide attempted to speak, the kids began to shout "no! no more dead people! I don't like this! This was not! A! Good! Idea!"

We shuffled into the other room, only to be confronted by a wax.....MUMMY.  Are you sh*tting me? We scrambled out of there amid wails to find Jesus, who I was sure would be more comforting. Not so much. This Jesus had something of a serial killer expression vs one of benevolence; perhaps he had been borrowed from another wax museum featuring the likes of Dahlmer, Bundy and other notables. Put a trucker hat on him and a bowie knife in his hand and you'd easily cross the street to avoid him.

Surely, there had to be some redeeming quality to this museum, other than the cheerful woman who manned it. We moved on to see Don Quixote, a welcome respite from the killers and the killed.  As we admired the Don Quixote and pretended that nothing had come before it, a sudden loud noise and terrified screams interrupted us. Apparently the NEXT room was booby trapped to scare the crap out of adults and kids alike. I needed no more prompting, and we fled the museum as Shawn Joaquin yelled "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!" and Madelena started pounding me with her little fists and yelling "BAD MAMA! BAD MAMA!"

Now that I have ruined all museums for my children, for life, perhaps I have contributed to my first goal of spending more time doing adult things - the kids will no longer clamor to go to any museums, and will in fact prefer the half-darkness of our TV room where they can enjoy more suitable fare like The Heffalump Movie. And I can avoid additional therapy for any of us, spending my money on my new hobby: tequila. ¡Salud!