“So, what do you do?”
The guy leans forward, all city slickness, adding, “You look like a designer.”
“Actually, I am a wildlife conservationist,” I meekly say, keeping up with the ping-pong game of what-do-you-do conviviality.
“A what conservationist?” incredulousness is writ large on the questioner’s face.
“Wildlife.”
“Oh, dogs and cats.”
“No, tigers and falcons. In the forest.”
“But you don’t look like a wildlife conservationist,” he expertly avers.
“How does a conservationist look?”
“Like… more wild… more tough.”
Leeches bite, a lot, in the forest. But nothing that a woman can’t take.
At which point I put down my rum and coke with a lemon twist and move away from the man, because what he means – and what many other men and women mean – is that a wildlife conservationist should look more like a man.
When I was thinking of what I wanted to do, wildlife…
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Not to be deterred, with a tool-belt around his waist and an unrealistic goal in sight, the confident dad began to assemble the tree house. He spread all the parts across the backyard and began to read the instructions, soon to realize that…
Alfonso Quiñones (
My first Liebster Award and I’m so grateful!!! 
photo by Grady 
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