I was sitting on a shady bench just the other day listening to two young women on the bench behind me. They were nibbling from a little bag of warm churros watching their young children playing, jumping rope, chasing the pigeons, running up and down the stairs to the kiosko.
“You know, it’s really quite remarkable.”
“You and Alfredo are so homely and yet your children are beautiful. Why do you suppose that it?”
“You know, I’ve never really understood it. It’s all in the genes, they say. You’re a beautiful woman and Hector is the most handsome man in Tecate – and your children are so ugly. Go figure.”