“Wh-What are those?” Rosalinda’s tone was one of shock and extreme disapproval. She pointed at the region around my thighs. I bent over to look for a creepy crawly or perhaps an embarrassing stain left over from lunch. Nothing. I bent around and took a gander down my backside. The coast was clear. I was relieved. It couldn’t be anything too humiliating.. “What are you talking about, Rosalinda?” “Those!!!” “My pants?” Even louder, “Your”, it was the pause that got to me, “jeans!” “What’s wrong with them? They look fine to me.” The fact is they weren’t fine, especially not for a Peruvian woman. “They’re all wrinkled and saggy. They don’t fit you.” Rosalinda, much to my amusement, was becoming visibly upset over the cultural perception on how jeans are to be worn in public. “No,
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