So someone stole the Chacos. Anyone who's owned (and hence paid through the nose for) Chaco sandals knows that they are amazing and never wear out. And I was wearing them every day all day. I was perturbed at their disappearance. Next day, someone stole a large envelope containing mail from the office and possibly from home--never got to open it. The next day, I left a small notebook laying on a counter and forgot about it. Came back for it later . . yeah. I think it's kind of like "He's American, whatever he's got it must be worth something." Mgrrr. Next time I'm going to leave a bunch of poo and burnt hair in a box on some counter somewhere. THEN WE'LL SEE WHO'S LAFFIN. Mgrffngr.
But hey, today I won an all-male . . um, thrusting contest. See, we were on our way home from a wedding in a village (boring, good food, bride was about 183 years younger than the groom). We stopped at a big gardeny meeting place and there was a sort of picnic program going on, with games ala towns like Punxatoney (SP) and Lake Woebegon. Naturally, they first asked the foreigners (myself and Matt, a guy who's traveling the world and happened to cross my path) to come up and make a speech in front of a couple hundred people. This is a common thing. I rattled off some diplomatic crap in sketchy Bangla and then we sat down to watch the women finish a game in which they all use bamboo sticks to try and smash the clay pots that one another are holding. They're confined to a circle about 30 feet wide but wearing formal dress and semi-high heels. Fantastic game. Anyway, after the beefiest one won that particular contest, there was a game for the men, and of course Matt and I were coerced into playing.
New paragraph so this story doesn't seem so long and drawn out: The game was this: First, you blow up a balloon, then you face your partner and suspend the balloon between the two of you, standing chest-to-chest. Hands are kept behind the back, and on the count of three everyone has to sort of bump and grind until someone pops their balloon between your two masculine bodies. I learned later on from some guy that some of them cheated by actually bringing pins with them and trying to hide them in their shirts.
But we still won. USA! USA! In your face, Not-USA!
But the day wore on and we had to leave. Hence, we could not stay for the prize ceremony. So we donated "it" (whatever "it" was, probably a box of poo and burnt hair) to the child with a bad kidney for whom the picnic (and a raffle) was organized.
OH, and another thing happened. As we were getting off the boat coming from the picnic, there was a large gap to cross. An extremely attractive bangladeshi girl in heels and a silken shalwar was eyeing the gap onto the pier with some reticence. The reflex was to just give her a hand as any good boy scout would. But it's a no-no to touch women in this culture. So as I sort of edged past her on my way up to the pier, I said offhandedly: "I'd help you but I'm not allowed to touch you," figuring hey, there's no way she's going to understand that, because no one understands English--much less fast, offhanded English. So I jump up onto the pier and turn around and she goes, "Okay, now please just give me a hand." In REALLY clear English. Um, what? Uh, okay. So I help her off the boat. "Thanks." Uhhhh . . "Wow, your English is very good." "Thank you."
Naturally, during the boat ride Matt and I had been saying things that we didn't think would be understood by others. Naturally, she must have heard them. Naturally, we may have commented on her looks in a rather candid discussion of Asian women . . and possibly how much my feet stink and how I dug some black junk out of my nose last night. Now how much of that did she understand . . .
Well I didn't get her number.
