My Indian Name.

No offense meant, but I have been christened with a Native American name... no, I am not "Dances with Wolves", and nor am I "Lady with a Green Backpack" or "One Who Buys Groceries at AM PM" ... though I could be those, too.

Instead, my dear friend Miguel, the very serious and dedicated night guard, has unknowingly given me a name.

Grace, a co-worker of mine's fantastic wife, came to take me out to a ladies-only dinner at Taj Mahal. (Their take-out menu says they're the only Indian restaurant in Central America. I don't know if it is true, but I've eaten there three times now, and it is so, so, so good. I like that it took Costa Rica to get me into Indian cuisine. Hot, flat and crowded indeed - right Mr. Friedman?)

So Grace, who is gringa like me but fluent in Spanish, of course, since she lives and works here, pulls up to the gate, and explains that she is here to visit Emily, the woman at the CAVU casa.

"You mean... the girl that sleeps alone?" Miguel asked with concern.

Stifling her laughter, Grace said, "Uh, yes. The Girl That Sleeps Alone. The gringa girl?"

But Miguel still called me to ask if it was OK to let in a "Grace" (which is even harder than "Emily" to pronounce in Spanish!). I told him it was, and he explained on our way out, "I'm a friend. I will call to make sure only other friends are allowed to visit."

Oh, Miguel. Whatever will you do in two-and-a-half-weeks when John arrives, and I become the Girl That Sleeps With Strange Gringo Men?

PS. For what it's worth, at least he can be "Juan". I have to spell it... A-Emmay-E-Ellay-E Griega. Say that five times fast.