Sometimes living in Mexico gets old.
Like on the days when you have to push a stroller on what can only be loosely defined as sidewalk, and more accurately can be described as blocks of concrete of varying heights, super steep driveways, with telephone poles in the middle that require you to take aforementioned stroller into traffic to go around aforementioned pole.
Mexico can get old when you realize that you've been cut off by the same bus three times in three blocks because it speeds up to get in front of you then pulls over and stops to let people off.
Somethings don't get old.
Like seeing a man walking down the street carrying three GIANT bags of cheese puffs. I'm talking bags that are almost the size of the man.
Now that, my friends, is funny.
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