"How do you like the Saguaro, Myx?"
"It's pronounced 'sah-wah-roh' and I like it just fine as long as you keep me away from the pricklies."
We were in the Tucson, Arizona area for a neat little vacation. The nights were very cool, but as soon as the sun came up, it was comfortably warm. The air had a different feel than back East--thinner and more drinkable, every breath refreshing.
"That's what I said: Saguaro."
"You pronounced it 'seg-gay-roh'--not even close," Myx said.
Myx loves to feel superior, which he is--but it makes for annoying outings to be constantly corrected.
"Anyway," I said, "that sah-wah-roh (I was careful this time to pronounce it to Myx's satisfaction) is a magnificent product of nature. That's probably over 50 years old."
"Technically, in your sad underestimation, you're right. It's over 50 years old since this variety of cactus doesn't even start to grow an arm until it's 75 years old. So you do the math," Myx said.
"I refuse to do math in such a beautiful setting," I said.
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