Peter Krupa

Yesterday Ona’s aunt from Atlanta called her up demanding to know the date of our wedding. She has to make plans, she said. What kind of plans? asked Ona. And she told Ona that she wanted to rent a motor home and drive up to New York City, picking up various and sundry family members all along the way until they arrived at our quiet little corner of Harlem - a literal truckload of Floreses and Monteros - to celebrate our matrimony

Visions of My Big, Fat Latino Wedding flashed before my eyes, and I turned a little pale. I wanted to explain to this woman, briefly, that this is the United States of America - we don’t do crazy things like that, and she should have learned this by now.

As it is, I believe cooler heads are prevailing for the time being. Good thing, because I doubt there are any motor home parking spaces in my neighborhood.