Half Showers

I just took half a shower. In both space, water pressure and all around temperature, I'd say it was all at about half mast. I am a small person. I actually never knew I was short until people started mentioning it all the time, but as it turns out it is true. Even at this height, I still struggle to fit completely in my shower, and I end up contorting my body in ways that are simply not natural. The shower is actually just a bathtub with a hand held shower head, one that does not stay in its little wall holder, mind you. So I have choreographed a kind of dance in which I hold the hose in one hand, at an extremely awkward angle none the less, and try to splash water as well as pour body wash with the other.  It's charming.  I have often heard that one of the biggest stereotypes of Americans is that we use too much water. You're damn straight, we do. My last two showers have been taken at mach speed, giving myself just enough hot water to rinse my body once and then get about half way through washing my hair. I usually condition in an icy tundra. And then after shivering for awhile, I put on my robe and dance around my bathroom, wondering if my host parents think it weird that I am showering so late.

I had planned on telling two anecdotes this evening but I find that I only have the energy for one. The ommitted anecdote happened at the Cleveland airport and it's about a bitchy mom who cried when her son bought Pop-tarts. Ask me about it-I'll be happy to talk about it.

The second, and now only, anecdote is from Sunday. Barbara and Fabio (my host parents) told me at breakfast that morning that they would be going to church at 11:00. Barbera mentioned that they would be back at 12:30 and I was free to walk around the neighborhood and get to know the city a little better. I thought this was an excellent idea! Afterall, Margherita had presented me with a smart leather keychain the night before and I was super excited to have my own set of keys. Once the family had left, I puttered around my new room for a bit before I decided I would be adventurous and venture off into the city by myself. When I left, I locked the door and went on my way. If you've looked at my Italy pictures, then you've seen the Piaza del Campo and how beautiful it is. I took lots of pictures, became acquainted with my surroundings and felt pretty independent and adventurous by the time I made my way home.  You have to understand that I am fairly independent but negative adventurous, so being out in a foreign land was very exciting.

I got back to the apartment at probably 12:15. Good,  I thought. I had wanted to make it back before they were home. I unlocked the main door at the street level and it worked perfectly fine. Then I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the top floor where I live and I casually put my key in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Huh, that's weird, I thought. Maybe I did it wrong. (Whatever that means) I tried the key again but still no luck. Then I went through a seemingly long period of not being able to remember which way the door opened, which is ridiculous because doors generally open in. Unless it is my bathroom door at home. I inspected the hinges and the door frame, wondering why nothing would work. I continued with the key and immediately realized that a neighbor definitely could NOT catch me struggling with this stupid key. The clock was ticking and there was no way in hell that I was going to allow my family to find me on their front stoop, dripping in sweat, and clearly waiting for them to let me in. My initial plan was to wait until they got home and then perform a series of flustered "where did those keys go!?!" gestures that would illustrate to them that I had JUST gotten there moments before and was in the act of finding my keys! Everytime I heard the door open, I began this act of contrived fumbling. Then it dawned on me that I just needed to break the damn thing down and get in the house no matter what it took. So I got a running start and slammed myself into the door. Nothing happened. I considered climbing in through the window, or just leaving and coming back again. And in a fit of sweat and frustration I put the key in one last time, turned it, and the door simply opened as though there had never been a struggle.

Lesson? I don't know. Don't forget to switch the voltage on your keys, I guess.

But seriously-Italy is awesome and someday I will find time to write about classes and my host family and the atrocious amount of food I've been eating. You'd rather hear about some Italian misadventures though, right?