To ease my splurge-induced capitalist pig consumer guilt,

and feeling über-responsible, I pull the book (50¢) off the shelf and add it to the alarmingly high pile of items in my section of the cart: pink sweaters; cigar shirt; a picture frame just like the one in La flor de mi secreto - the one whose marbles go skittering all over the floor in the desenlace; kick-pleat (and kick-ass, if I do say so myself) brown skirt with pink ribbon and sequin trim; images of La Virgen framed in thick wood, spray-painted gold - hechas en México; brand-new shiny black slingback pointy-toe pumps...