I Can't Hide This Feeling Anymore

Alright folks, I have to make a confession. Two, actually. The first is that this post is going to be borderline disgusting, so if natural bodily functions make you queasy, then you’re shit out of luck. That's a pun; it will be funnier in a minute. The second is that, against all odds, I have become a Communist. I fought these awful anti-Capitalistic sentiments all throughout Europe, but have finally succumbed in Argentina. Forgive me America, forgive me Uncle Sam, forgive me Stephen Colbert, I have sinned. I cannot deny it any longer: I have had lavatorial relations with that woman, Miss Bidet. Before you good patriots back home begin burning me in effigy, as you most certainly should, please let me explain myself. This tragic metamorphosis was not founded in curiosity or experimentation, but out of sheer necessity. This does not excuse my love of Bidet, but I feel as though I should explain how this newfound relationship developed, so that others may avoid falling into the same Marxist trap.

It all started, as many relationships do, with bad mint leaves. I was at a bar and had ordered a mojito because I love turning neutral bartenders into my enemies. Rising to the challenge, I suspect my bartender carefully and thoroughly washed those mint leaves in a recently used toilet, whose previous occupant may have also ordered a mojito from him. I’m not necessarily indicting my bartender with serial food poisoning because that would be a baseless accusation, but it would legitimately surprise me if he understood the words “potable” or “unflushed.” Spellcheck has politely informed me that “unflushed” is in fact not a word, so perhaps it’s understandable that my bartender would be unfamiliar with this word. Nevertheless, after being served a heaping portion from Mojito Man, I’m not in the mood to take shit from anyone. Especially spellcheck. So I’m going to continue unabashedly using fake words and making poop puns.

For the record, my mojito was delicious, and I may have eaten the majority of the mint leaves. The rest of the night passed without event. It would be the last peaceful night I would have for 5 days.

I woke the following morning to find something miraculous happening inside of me. It was so miraculous, that I’m going to use pregnancy as the metaphor to protect your innocent psyches. And boy, was I pregnant. I gave birth over 8 times that day, and if you’ve never had the pleasure of pumping out children at such an alarming rate, I assure you, it takes a toll on your body. Your old friend toilet paper, who’s always been there for you through thick and thin, becomes a cruel mistress. Fearing that the birthing wasn’t going to slow and knowing that my relationship with TP was in the shitter (nailed it), I looked around frantically. And who should catch my eye but that creepy kid Bidet, who I always saw around Europe, just sitting there awkwardly next to my buddy Toilet. Bidet never said anything, and she looked funny, so I always ignored her. In desperation, I started a conversation with her.

“So hey, I know we’ve never formerly met, but I’m Ryan. And, uh, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to…you know…get to know you better?”

Ever the introvert, Bidet didn’t respond. I took that as begrudging consent. I had a rudimentary understanding of how Bidet operated, but I can’t deny that I wasn’t a little scared. Nevertheless, I was desperate, and she was my only friend during that dark day.

Our first time was a little awkward, as first times tend to be. But soon, a strong friendship developed, and Bidet supported me through my trials with food poisoning. She was always waiting for me when I woke up in the morning or got home from school. I didn’t have to rely on TP’s rough disposition and shitty attitude as much anymore (zing). Even today, when I’m giving birth at a much healthier rate, and Bidet has technically become superfluous, we remain close. I don’t care that she’s a dirty French Communist or that she’s a persona non grata in the United States. If our love is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

I’m glad to have finally gotten that off my chest. I’ve been scared to tell my family and friends about Bidet because she’s not well liked back home. I just hope that everyone respects our relationship while it lasts. It’s not common for me to change my opinion on someone as dramatically as I did with Bidet, and I’m excited to see what other changes she will make in my life. With her help, I’m positive that I can weather any shitstorm that Argentina throws my way.

http://twitpic.com/a2vee7

Notes:

1.     “Poop puns” rolls off the tongue quite nicely.

2.     It’s not officially considered study abroad until I get food poisoning. I was hoping I could stave it off a little longer, but alas, shit happens.

3.     My official diagnosis was viral gastroenteritis. It resulted one day of missed class, two visits to the doctor, a diet of chicken and rice for three days, and innumerable bathroom visits.

4.     I have since fully recovered. There are few feelings sweeter than having complete control over your body again.

5.     I apologize for the graphic nature of this post. I simply wanted to document every aspect of my life here, including the crappy ones.