I cried in supermarkets, which I understand is universal and which nobody mentions.

Twice in San Diego and once, spectacularly, in a Superama in Mexico City over a brand of crackers my grandmother used to buy.

I went to therapy for fourteen months with a woman in Colonia Del Valle named Dr.

Iturbe, in Spanish, which was much harder and much better, because I did not have any of my English defenses available.

You cannot be wry in your second language.