My babysitter graduated high school a couple weeks ago and afterward her mother threw her a small dinner party with friends and family. We would have been there but we were on our way to South Carolina at the time, so I gave her a present beforehand with a little requisite advice for someone about to enter the world: PLAY HARD.
Word is that her boy Chimmy, real name Roberto (he’s from Peru and speaks Spanish as a first language), was at the party. Chimmy is apparently the first boyfriend that the parents and sisters truly like, because, I mean, what’s not to like? He’s Peruvian. You cannot possibly say that word without loving it and the person it describes. Paahhhhrooooohveeeuuunn. Aren’t you in love?
Plus, Chimmy carried in a 200 pound box of cookware that I bought Jon for Father’s Day and stored it in our basement. I can mention here that I bought Jon new cookware for two reasons: 1) NOW HE WILL LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT THE COOKWARE, and 2) I thought yesterday was Father’s Day. Guess what? It wasn’t.
At the babysitter’s graduation party everybody was talking about Chimmy when somebody asked what his last name was. I don’t know much about Peruvians because I studied French in college, an endeavor that has left me with 30% fewer brain cells. But I guess those Peruvians have two last names. TWO! Which I find so endearing because WHY STOP AT ONE WHEN YOU CAN HAVE TWO?
His real last name is very dramatic and Spanish and quite a mouthful BECAUSE THERE ARE TWO OF THEM, and once my babysitter announced it to the room her mother, out loud, in total seriousness with not a drop of irony gasped, “You mean it’s THAT? All this time I thought it was Chonga.”