It
was Night of the Big Sombrero. Men with
skin the consistency of aged leather draped themselves in festive serapes and
danced the Hopak on the narrow ledges of high walls while the women wailed and
gnashed their teeth at passing goats.
Rosalita, a glowing, cherry flavored cheroot dangling from her grey, cracked lips, ripped off her saffron rebozo and tossed it into the mud. A glass of sangria exploded at her feet as she began to caterwaul like a maniacal cat being castrated. Her eyes rolled back in her head till only the whites showed and she began to shriek dire omens in a form of archaic Gaelic that had heretofore been unheard in these parts.
Father Umberto O’Flannery clutched his head and fell to his knees before Rosario’s feet and began to beg, “Aye, Senorita Mahoney what evil is this ye speak?”
But Rosalita spoke no more and would not speak again for many years.
All went silent as the revelers struggled to make sense of Rosalita’s ominous warnings. Was something truly horrific about to occur? And if so, would it be today, tomorrow or ten years from now? Or was she simply mad as a hatter?
“That’s the problem with these prophecies,” complained Juan Darby, “they’re always so vague.”
“Aye, brother Juan,” replied his brother Lupe, “I for one would like to know wherein I should go to work in the morn or sleep in. If the end really is nae a-coming I don’ coddle to wasting a perfectly foine day a-working.”
There then occurred much discussion on Lupe’s wise words. It was finally decided that while Rosalita’s prophecies were almost certainly complete bullshit, it was better to be safe than sorry and in an unanimous vote they agreed to continue the Celebration of the Sombrero and declare the next day also a holiday.
A mariachi band then began to play an Irish reel and Father O’Flannery opened the church wine cellars to all.
There was merrymaking the rest of the night and when the end did not come the next day, it was decided this should be an occasion for more merrymaking and another holiday was declared.
Thus no more work was ever done by the Mexican Irish who instead chose to celebrate each day that the end of the world had not come.
Rosalita, a glowing, cherry flavored cheroot dangling from her grey, cracked lips, ripped off her saffron rebozo and tossed it into the mud. A glass of sangria exploded at her feet as she began to caterwaul like a maniacal cat being castrated. Her eyes rolled back in her head till only the whites showed and she began to shriek dire omens in a form of archaic Gaelic that had heretofore been unheard in these parts.
Father Umberto O’Flannery clutched his head and fell to his knees before Rosario’s feet and began to beg, “Aye, Senorita Mahoney what evil is this ye speak?”
But Rosalita spoke no more and would not speak again for many years.
All went silent as the revelers struggled to make sense of Rosalita’s ominous warnings. Was something truly horrific about to occur? And if so, would it be today, tomorrow or ten years from now? Or was she simply mad as a hatter?
“That’s the problem with these prophecies,” complained Juan Darby, “they’re always so vague.”
“Aye, brother Juan,” replied his brother Lupe, “I for one would like to know wherein I should go to work in the morn or sleep in. If the end really is nae a-coming I don’ coddle to wasting a perfectly foine day a-working.”
There then occurred much discussion on Lupe’s wise words. It was finally decided that while Rosalita’s prophecies were almost certainly complete bullshit, it was better to be safe than sorry and in an unanimous vote they agreed to continue the Celebration of the Sombrero and declare the next day also a holiday.
A mariachi band then began to play an Irish reel and Father O’Flannery opened the church wine cellars to all.
There was merrymaking the rest of the night and when the end did not come the next day, it was decided this should be an occasion for more merrymaking and another holiday was declared.
Thus no more work was ever done by the Mexican Irish who instead chose to celebrate each day that the end of the world had not come.
