Socks in the Bidet

 Argentina Travelogue

Surprisingly, not a handwash for little people.

"Well, what the fuck are we supposed to use then?"

    As most of you know, I spent half of October in Argentina.  Not to scout for elderly Nazis, you understand,

"Whew!  Thank Gott!  Errr....I mean 'Gracias a Dios!'."

but because my wife's parents were born there.  Before they emigrated to the United States in the early 60s. 

    You know, before it became a shithole.

"I feel attacked.  You?" 
"Well, we're both dead, so screw him."

    Anyway, she still has family there and wanted to visit.  Since she hasn’t been back for thirty years, she figured it was high time to return.  Even though everyone has changed.

    She, however, has not.  She is as beautiful as ever.

    NOTE:  CYA in case she reads this.

    She had a great time.  Me?  I had a good time, as well.  Even though all they speak is Spanish down there and I learned in short order that my high school Spanish wasn’t up to the task.

I did my best to fit in, though.

    So for thirteen days I sat in a corner like a dummy, unable to understand a single word.  Besides, "I don't understand" and “Where’s the toilet?”  Because that kind of knowledge is pretty important.

    Except for the language barrier, Argentina is a very nice place.  Once Juan and Eva Peron faded away, that is.

    NOTE:  Euphemism for “died.”

"Wait.  What?"

    There’s a slew of cultural differences, mostly good.  One example is that, when people arrive, they immediately kiss each other on the cheek (on the face, you perv), perfect stranger or no.

    Since I didn’t speak the language, I chalked this up to the fact that I am wildly cute.

    Then, my wife burst my bubble.  "No, you narcissistic nitwit," she explained, 

"Narcissist? I'm your huckleberry."  

"they do it so people are immediately put at ease." Apparently, doing so relaxes folks who, even though a stranger just planted one on their face, they have nothing to fear.

Although, I steered clear of Uncle Tico.

    I think this is a great way to interact with each other.

Until I remembered Judas greeted Jesus with a kiss.

    I wouldn’t mind settling there.  However, that would put thousands of miles between me and my children and grandchildren.  And that I will not do.

    But, we’ll go back next year.  I hope to learn more Spanish phrases than the location of the john by then.

    Possibly, "Oops, I plugged the toilet."

    Oh, the title of this post?

    One of the cultural realities of Argentina (and, to be honest, much of the world), is that every bathroom has a bidet in it.

    The morning after we arrived (after saying “Donde esta el bano?” to our host-high school taught me that at least), I used the facilities to...uh...do I need to draw you a picture?

    Following my sojourn on the throne, I planned on showering.  However, when I moved my clean clothes to the shower stall, I dropped my socks in the bidet.

    I quickly retrieved them.  Since they appeared to be unscathed by a (thankfully) unused bidet, I still put them on.  I figured that, if they were tainted, they’d be on my feet under my shoes anyway.  So, I felt reasonably safe.

    Besides, I had no choice.  I didn’t know Spanish for “I have potty ewwwww on my socks.”