CHAPTER 047: Flying Pigs

I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly isn't Uncle Bruno strutting in with a sombrero perched on his head, pointy shoes, and an obvious fake tan that makes him look like he’s spent too much time under an orange sun. To top it all off, he’s speaking in a terrible Mexican accent.

“Halo, halo, my people!” he declares loudly, a bottle of champagne in hand. “I bring good tidings!”

He walks towards me and is about to hand over the champagne when he suddenly spots Helena sitting elegantly on the couch. For a moment, he just stops and stares, transfixed.

“My god. You’re beautiful,” he says.

To my surprise, Helena blushes.

I can't help but roll my eyes. “What’s with the accent?” I ask.

Uncle Bruno straightens up, adjusting his sombrero with a flourish. “I spent two glorious weeks in San Miguel de Allende, and I’ve come to realize that my spirit belongs to Mexico. I now identify as a Mexican. They have such wonderful food, vibrant music, and pretty women. But none,” he drops to one kne