Well....
I must have turned a corner because I am now able to jog in this heat. Okay, I only last about 15 minutes and am basically done for the rest of the day, but it is a far cry from passing out. However, when I come back from these quick “runs” of mine, I am filthy. Keep in mind…not only am I covered in my own sweat, mixed with various types of sun-block, but I have just navigated my way through feral dogs, horses, cows, chickens and, of course, all of their shit. When I use the word “shit” it is not a euphemism. It is really their shit. I would wear a haz-mat suit if it weren’t Africa-hot here. But, as I round the bend returning to my mother-in-laws’ house, all I can think about is a shower. When I stumble my way through the door, I see in the few minutes I have been gone, that another 47 of Marcos’ nieces, nephews and cousins returned – and they beat me to it. The bathroom looks like a crime scene. A hot crime scene with little ventilation. At that point I would rather find the horse posse I passed a mile back and roll in their shit rather than use the shower. So I stand in the kitchen, bright red cheeks, trying to catch my breath, dripping with sweat and some other goo that stuck to me along the way, and doing my best to tell my mother-in-law, in broken Portuguese, that no, I’ll take a shower when we go home later (which I’m guessing, if we stay for dinner, should be a mere 4 or 5 hours from now).
And just then…here he comes. My knight in shining armor. Or in this case, My Brazilian, with a huge bucket, a scrub brush and enough bleach to kill most of the children sharing the kitchen with me. I think I fell in love all over again.
Of course, later I changed my mind when I was helping move something and he referred to me as his “little truck”. Dick. What girl doesn’t want to publicly be compared to a large motor vehicle? Oh, that Brazilian of mine continues to sweep me off me feet! Back off ladies…he’s all mine!