Enrique Igleseas, Macaroni & Cheese, and a Rocking Chair

"A Tale of Laundry, Love, and Forgiveness"

Oh, Enrique. What has happened to your life? The days of Latin stardom and Anna Kournikova are over, are they not? Never good at soccer like your father, all you had was your semi-good looks and that crazy finger shaking thing. But it paid off! Instant fame and fortune came your way, women flocked to your feet, and people created websites and the counters reached the thousands. I'm sure there was a tattoo, too, tattooed somewhere on a male's body; that was the extent of your celebrity status.

But the Latin Big Bang is over, Ricky has fallen off the map, Gloria is making appearances on American Idol, J-Lo went hip hop, and Marc Anthony...well...we don't need to talk about him. Nobody on the Facebook lists you in their favorite music list. All your servants have left your mansion and, egads!, you don't know how to cook. Thus Kraft has now become your best friend; its macaroni and cheese just speaks to you in ways no one has in years. You need not make any more appearances on television, so there's no need to concentrate on your looks. Stop holding that belly in Enrique! Drink as many Dos Equis as you want! Embrace your mole!

The oozing of the macaroni represents the current state of your career: mostly stagnant. Since you're not rolling in Benjamins anymore, you had to sell most of your crazy contemporary furniture. So you went antiquing, but nobody knew it was you and you weren't even wearing a hat! You bought a rocking chair from a strip mall antique store. You're pretty sure you were ripped off by an old lady, but there's not much you can do now. Your five o'clock shadow is no longer sexy. The lady's granddaughter doesn't even know you exist; you can't even offer her an autograph. Oh feel sad, Enrique, feel sad.

One day, all alone on your birthday, eating mac and cheese in your favorite (and only) chair, there came a knock on your door. You opened it and, lo and behold, it was a cleaning lady. You had been so out of it, Enrique, that you didn't even notice the deplorable state of your mansion. The lady came as a present from an old friend: Jennifer Love Hewitt. Oh, but she was beautiful Enrique...you must have her. Oh but wait! You've been out of the game too long, you don't even remember how it's played. So you make advances, and they are rejected...you even get slapped around a few times. But she is too beautiful, YOU MUST HAVE HER!

So when she is doing your laundry (because let's face it, you never had to do this by yourself before, and the amount of clothes stacked up in the dirty pile is about to rival the height of a small hill) you come up behind her and you whisper something in Espanol in her ear. But she is French (how stereotypical, no?), and she doesn't understand. So you grab some paper out of your outdated printer and you draw crude illustrations of what you have in mind. She is moved, mostly because she finds you weird. You go and grab the platinum record from the wall, and it does the trick...she is swept off her feet (you ran into her when you were running back). She forgives you and agrees to go out on a date.

Where will you take her Enrique?