I was frantically weeding my side yard, which faces the street (because: THE MOVE), when a man with the same shade of skin as Ed, somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, missing a couple of teeth and with a young child in each hand, approached me and pulled out a business card and said with a warm smile,
"You need a Mexican for that!"
I looked at him and then his card, and then up at my house, where somewhere within resided a Mexican. My Mexican. Likely on his laptop doing work, but not the work that is stereotypically ascribed to his race.
And all I could do was nod and agree. And laugh.
