Prima Rubia, the very oldest of all the Sauve cousins, alerted the Pepino Suave Blogsite Editorial Board of Chimps, Rubber Chickens, and Other Lawyers (PSBEBCRCOL) of an error in the previous entry entitled “El Pescador de Frisbees“. It was a ghastly error of omission, made worse by the fact that it slighted a much older cousin of Pepino Suave, the eldest of the Suave grandchildren, the heir to Grandma Suave’s haircurlers: Rubia. In the comments for that wayward entry, amongst Spanish comments produced by translation programs (who is their Spanish teacher, anyway?), was Rubia’s plaintive “call out” for her picnic dish, Ambrosia, a Suave tradition. Seems I omitted any reference to the sticky concoction. Rubia’s side-dish insecurity is unwarranted, our fans realize, as everyone knows a Suave meal includes a mixing bowl heaped with Ambrosia. Es obvio.
Still, the fact remains that this writer, whose keyboard is soley used for goodness, wisdom, and fart jokes, slighted Rubia, a cousin revered by my siblings for her heartwarming family tales about life on a glacier. Rubia, the keeper of family traditions (wrestling with mamoths? What fun it must have been in her youth!). Rubia, whose youthful good looks belie her advancing years. Rubia, if she were a tree, would have more tree rings than a, well, a real old tree.
Dear Rubia, our sage cousin of the youthful good looks, how can we, the good people of Bob El Gorilas Mobile Wharehouse of Yippee Skippee Games, Songs, and Stories make it up to you?
Tell you what, Los Gorilas Ocho and I got together around the kool-aid cooler and brainstormed a solution. Send us a slightly altered version of La Familia Suave Ambrosia recipe and we’ll post it right here on this beloved blog. No, not the original, top secret version etched in a stone tablet and hidden in your brazier, but an altered one. One that will give our audience an idea of our famed Suave tradition, without giving up the entire secret you’ve been guarding since the French Indian War (Tell us again how you translated for the French. Oui?). You know, maybe switch brands of marshmellows. Or replace sliced peaches for melon balls (worked that one in there for you, Hermano Miguel).
Thank you, esteemed Readers, for allowing us to make things right with ol’ Rubia. Our picnic was anchored by her sweet, spongy Ambrosia. Rubia would never forget, regardless her advanced age. My bad.