by Ann Hazard

     If you have a house in Mexico you are going to have houseguests. It comes with the territory. Some people are subtle. They drop hints when looking for invitations. “You going to La Buf anytime soon? God, but I love it down there.” Others offer their services—usually construction-oriented. “Say. I have some leftover tile from a job. Can you use it? I’ll haul it down for you.” The more desperate ones are the most blatant. “When are you going to invite me to your house? I’m free just about any weekend....” It’s almost impossible to sneak a weekend away without someone (or three or more) tagging along. If we want alone time, we actually have to avoid telling our friends that we’re leaving.

     Debbie, Steve, Kim, Terry and I were sitting around our La Buf kitchen table one night not too long ago. We decided to make a list of what houseguests should do if they want to get invited back. We came up with ten ways to be a “Five-Star Houseguest:”
    · You must be over 40. Or 35. We’re not sure. Just no born-again teenagers.
    · You must stop at Duty Free on the way into Mexico and buy your own booze and cigarettes ... or buy them here … unless you don’t partake of either, of course.
    · You can’t have more fun than we do. It’s illegal.
    · You must be able to fall with grace. Most gringos are used to walking on concrete or asphalt. Dirt roads can be slippery, especially at night. And our stairs ... well ... they can be treacherous.
    · You must have first aid capabilities—especially on First Night in Camp. Chiropractors (like Debbie) who provide free services are highly regarded.
    · You must cook, do dishes, remember to put the toilet paper in the basket, flush when appropriate and learn how to take a Navy shower. You will be forgiven if cooking mishaps occur—such as the time Chuck was cooking a Thanksgiving turkey on a Weber grill and dropped it in the dirt. We hosed it off and ate it anyway—gritty as it was.
    · If you stay more than three days, you must have at least one profound moment.
    · You must be able to blow the conch shell, or at least try.
    · If you want to stay an extra day, you must come up with a really good excuse. True excuses, like breaking a tooth and having to go to the dentist, beat out all whoppers. However, most of us have come up with inventive stories—stretching the truth or making up totally fictional excuses—to stay an extra day. These are preferable. The more creative the whopper, the better.
    · Finally, if you really, really want to be invited back, paint a wall, wash the windows, weed or perform some other type of manual labor. Indentured service is mandatory.

                                            * * * *

Houseguests often bring, what I call, “hostess gifts.” They are not required, but we have received a variety of them, usually purchased at the Mall.

    My college roommate, Laurie, brought down my favorite hostess gift. She came with an almost-full bottle of very expensive tequila. The tequila was superb, and the bottle was made of hand-blown Mexican glass with a green rim around the top. It had a cork and a wood stopper. At the bottom of the bottle was a tiny green glass agave plant. It’s usable art. I scrubbed the label off and we keep it on the counter to use as a decanter. Laurie went to the Mall and found a shot glass that matched perfectly. So that sits next to the bottle.

    Laurie also gave us a pair of really huge stainless steel bowls. She knows I cook for crowds there more often than not, so she knew I’d use them. What was even more amazing than the utility of the gift was that her bowls nested perfectly with the stainless steel bowls I already had—and matched too.

    Amy’s not a houseguest. She’s a neighbor who comes over for dinner a lot. She always brings something. She gave us a set of yellow ceramic bowls to match the kitchen, a couch, and a turquoise shell bath mat. She loaned us a banquet table to use before we had a kitchen. She always brings food too. The last time she was over she left behind an art deco appetizer tray in just my colors. I washed it and put it in the cupboard. Do you think she’ll forget it’s there, so I can keep it? I’m crossing my fingers.

    Then there are the houseguests (they’re definitely the majority) who shop at the Mall. They come back with clay suns and moons to hang on the wall, cherubs or other statuettes, pieces of stained glass, candles and candleholders. We have them all over the place.

    The most hilarious hostess gift I ever received was from Debbie. She’d just had Thanksgiving dinner at her house the day before she arrived. In addition to turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce and pies, she brought me this little wooden turkey napkin holder with matching orange and brown napkins. I bet her mom gave it to her. It doesn’t go with my Mexican folk art theme, so I’m planning on recycling it next year. Hopefully I’ll get invited to her house and I can give it back. It can become an annual tradition.
 
 

© Ann Hazard, 2002. No part of this article may be reprinted without permission.
This story is featured in Ann's newest book, Agave Sunsets.

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