Cotton-Candy at the Flea-Market

Having Rafa home for the weekend has been great.
He brings up a bunch of memories I'd otherwise have left forgotten.
He makes me laugh.
He reminds me why I think guys are... the business.

Some of our moments:

"Remember where we were when the Rebels lost to Duke in 1991?"
I had completely forgotten about this. I only remember a bunch of people screaming and cheering when UNLV won in 1990. I remember doing that whole... biting-of-the-towel thing.
Mom was a fanatic back then, so she'd have her babies decked out in red, screaming "R-EHHHHH-BULLLLLLS!" (except D, she couldn't make the "R" sound until she was about six)
So, you can't blame me for forgetting such a sad event like the Rebels losing to those bastards.
But then Rafa reminded me, and it all came back to me.
We were waiting in the check-out lane at K-Mart. We were eager to get home to catch the end of the game, when they announced the final score over the intercom. Everyone in the store groaned.
Thanks for the reminder, Rafa.

"Do you know what 'buying cotton-candy at the flea-market' means?"
We were watching a documentary on Pablo Escobar, when Rafa started using "drug slang" with me. For the most part, when he starts getting retarded like this, I mumble to keep him from talking to me.
This time around, I was humoring him by taking guesses at his questions.
He then asked me if I knew what "buying cotton-candy at the flea-market" meant.
Me: No. What?
Rafa: Exactly that. Remember?
Ok, so back in the day, Mom would force us to accompany her to the out-door "flea-market" on Sundays.
My only demand would be for her to buy me cotton candy.
Mom would promise I'd get my wish at the end of the outing.
Would I? No. But I was the good kid who would refuse to throw a temper tantrum (unlike D. She'd turn epileptic on us when she wouldn't get her way. It was beyond embarrassing).
So, every week, this would happen to me... and every week, Rafa would make fun of me for it.
All I wanted, was some FREAKING COTTON CANDY!

"It's ya boy!"
This morning, I woke up to see Rafa had posted on my wall.
Why's this idiot writing on my wall when he's right down the hallway?
Then I saw the link.
It was an article mentioning Ken, Barbie's man, and how he's turning 50 this year.
Back in the day, I had a ton of barbies, but no Ken. I asked for a Ken doll for YEARS. Mom didn't concede this wish until one day that I chopped off the hair on one barbie, and "turned her into a man." I guess Mom got tired of seeing me play with the barbies and have this poor barbie play the role of the man. I purposely made my barbies kiss, just so she'd get me a freakin' Ken.
Once Mom gave up and bought me Ken, Rafa and his BFF would steal him from me and finding him would turn into a scavenger hunt... where I'd ultimately find Ken in compromising positions... usually with his pants down, exposing his lack of a crotch... dangling from a tree or something.


Impossible for a girl to remain sad with memories like that.