FUCKING with the toad

This afternoon I called toad, without a prompt, to see if he might be at his mom's for Sunday dinner. He was there with mama toad, Mercedes the Witch, her evil offspring, and a distant relative on mama toad's side of the family who they call Tia Maria. I know, funnyhaha since there is a liqueur of the same name. This Tia Maria is like a great-aunt of the toad's. Of course, toad sounds or is trying to sound so suave, make that suav-ay on the phone with me. I tell him I'm so tired from working all weekend at the club, my feet are killing me and that he better come over and massage them and for this the fee will be $100. Yes, yes, he is saying. I hear his relatives babbling in Spanish. Tell everyone I said hello toad! I hear him pass along my greetings. Silencio on the other end. I get angry with the toad. Toad it's all your fault if your family thinks thinks that our love isn't real, YOU aren't convincing enough. Then toad burbles, can we talk about this later? No, I say. You need to make a believable impression on your family, especially Mercedes, that we are really novio and novia, comprendes?

This is my pathetic conversational Spanish, inserting Spanish words within English sentences. Si, comprendo, toad utters. Anyway, I know I must plot how to make the coven believe that there is a real emotional connection between the toad and me. Just not the type that ends with happily ever after.