A few nights ago, Erin and I were having a rare, quiet evening indoors.  I had just cooked us a dinner of thick quesadillas with sautéed onions, mushrooms, and some type of orange cheese that melted into a beautiful, gooey, stringy mess.  Chased with a couple of our favorite Nicaraguan beers, it was decidedly more successful than our attempt at rice ‘n beans.

It hadn’t even started to congeal in our arteries when we heard a knock at the door.

Who could that be? We thought.

We weren’t expecting any company, and the couple of miles on the dirt road that carries you from town to our place of residence may as well be a million to those of our (mostly car-less) friends who dare navigate the labyrinth of potholes in the pitch black of night.

Not to mention the fact that we didn’t hear anyone approach, and our windows were wide open.  We’re in Costa Rica and we have no a/c.  Our windows are always open.

Erin crept to the door and I followed close behind.  You know, to watch her back.  Then she opened the door to a most unexpected visitor, indeed.

Hey, I heard you girls are new in town.  I thought maybe I could take you out, buy you a few flies, you know… rrrrrribbit…. see where things go.

Then maybe we could head back to my place and take a dip in the pond.

…

Rrrrrribbit.

…

No?

…

Well, it was worth a shot.

Stupid gringas.