A trip

She came on just as the bus to Mismaloya started to leave.
She was big and she was gringa; she was, I thought, a perfect model for a Wagnerian Brunhilda.
After some problems finding change in her strangely tiny purse, she sunk down in seat and almost crushed the poor Mexican girl sitting next to her.
And off we went to Mismaloya and Boca when suddenly a voice boomed
STOP....stop right here.
It was Brunhilda. The bus driver checked her out in his mirror and started to find a place to pull in when she started to say.....NO...Not here....it's too late.
By now we are at a bus stop and everybody is watching Brunhilda who is not moving but throwing her arms --and what arms--in the air and saying that she might as well take the trip to the end and return to where she wanted to get off.
I wanted so badly to tell her to get her big behind off the bus and across the street to the bus stop and catch the next bus going to town, but I refrained.
When I got off at my stop in Mismaloya thirty minutes later, she was still there in her seat, glowering.
Silly thing.