Helllooo my garbanzos! I am 4 sips into the strongest margarita I’ve ever had, in honour of Cinco de Mayo. It’s strong because I only had 2 limes between 4 people. The rest is made up of Casamigos tequila and Triple sec, so it’s basically a Mexican martini. I’m a lightweight when it comes to spirits, so I should be loadypants by the end of this post. You’ve been warned.

 

Just off the Zoom with my sister. One of my sisters. The French one. Although she lives in Rotterdam now. She’s married to a Frenchman, although they are amicably separated, very much so. They still have an apartment together in Paris, although he lives in Amsterdam. It’s complicated, and very European. Anyhoozles, she’s doing fine. The sun was setting on the Rotte (the river from whence the town gets its name) outside her window, as the barges drifted by. The world is such a beautiful place, and I miss it. My sister is also beautiful, and that’s not just the tequila talking. I could not help but notice her lustrous hair. She’s a natural strawberry blonde, and has always kept it very short. Like mine. And like mine, it’s grown out, but it looks incredibly thick and healthy. Turns out she’s using a homemade chickpea shampoo. Have you heard about this? It’s a thing. She’s supposed to send me the recipe, but I found one online, and people – especially those with thinning hair – are swearing by it. Here’s what I found:

 

3 tablespoons of chickpea flour, 1 tablespoon regular sugar, 1 tablespoon honey, 1 tablespoon vinegar.

 

You mix it up and brush it on, rinse it out and Bob’s your hairdresser. You probably smell a bit like a falafel, but your hair will be gorgeous. This being said, I haven’t tried it, so caveat emptor.

 

Speaking of hairdressers, I received a lovely text from mine. All the hair salons are champing at the bit to reopen, with a rabid customer base hoping to be first in line. I actually had an appointment for a cut the first week of quarantine, which of course was cancelled, so I am now almost 13 weeks out. I have a rather famous first cousin named John Holloway. He’s the eldest son of my father’s eldest brother,  a philosopher and Neo-Marxist professor of sociology at the University of Puebla in Mexico. I only met him once, years ago, on a family trip to Ireland. I bring him up for two reasons: it ties in with Cinco de Mayo, and, if you look at his photo on Wikipedia, you’ll see we have the same hair. All to say he’s a serious intellectual, I’m a shallow entertainer, and my hairdresser assured me I’d be first in line when they reopen.

 

Whooo. This margarita slaps, as the kids say. The kids themselves are making tacos right now, listening to Spotify’s Fours Seasons Los Cabos playlist. We WERE listening to Buena Vista Social Club, but someone, maybe me, remembered they were Cuban, so we made adjustments. I suspect there may be dancing later, and then, most certainly, tears. Hasta la vista, baby. Mamacita has to go before this get messy.

 

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