Um...I'm Busy

So this is what happened today:

I woke at 4:45 a.m. And by "I woke" I mean Noelle knocked on my bedroom door and got me up. We left at 5 a.m. and walked down to Santa Elena. We arrived at 6:20 with stops for: picking up Tedi, petting a dog, eating cinnamon buns, taking money out of the ATM, taking pictures of the view. Noelle hopped on the bus, Tedi and I bought produce and a bean and cheese empanada and then hopped on the bus back up the mountain.

I went home. I put away veggies. I washed mangoes and tomatoes. I washed laundry. I met my landlady's son.

It was about 9:30 in the morning and I was loading the wash into the machine on the front porch. He came upstairs in a red t-shirt, white fuzzy slippers and short flower shorts. He introduced himself to me. He speaks English. He asked where I was from and when I said New York he shared that he studied at Cornell in Ithaca. He points out the Guatemala flower that only blossoms one day a year. Its beautiful. I say "Mucho gusto" and go inside.

I come out again to change loads. He shows up again. He cuts off a chunk of some sweet food and offers it to me. I take it, eat it, says its yummy even though it is not, thank him and go back inside.

I come outside again to take my clothes out of the machine. I cart them to the porch to hang them on the line. I hear, "Gina!" I respond. He wants to show me the bleeding tree. It sounds interesting enough. What do I say? Ok.

I go out of my house, past the scary dog guarding his mom's house and into his house. Um...yes. He shows me the bleeding tree, which is actually pretty cool. He hacks it with a huge knife and it leaks red. He tells me some random facts about plants. I start to go home. He tells me that if I even want to go to Arenal with him on his moto I can . I say ok and leave.

A few hours later the phone rings. I pick up.
"Hello?"
"Gina?"
"Yes. Who is this?."
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
"I don't know, who is this?"
"Aw, you're already scared. It's Miguel!"

He wants me to go somewhere with him. I make an excuse. Crap. I hate this. When do I start talking about my boyfriend?