The place....
Where you begin your life of spray-on and roly-poly deodorants.
Where knocking on the doors means clapping.
Where they burn the basura.
Where bread accompanies every meal,
Where the meat is the best part, but you are so excited to eat broccoli.
Where you wish everyone just knew the Law of Chastity.
Where there are kiosks on every block.
Where lunch is the big meal.
Where each region has a distinct accent and its own tune.
Where everything is affirmed, pues,
Where the "s"' are dropped.
Where you are overjoyed when you find a recycling bin.
Where you feel like a legit missionary with your tag flapping and your skirt blowing as you travel the dirt roads.
Where you could win a speed-walking competition every day.
Where there is dulce de leche!
Where there are facturas.
Where the dogs reproduce like rabbits.
Where you help people repent and feel joy.
Where no one answers the door during the siesta.
Where you can watch someone kill a chicken in her yard.
Where grass is cut with machetes and weed-whackers.
Where your milk comes in a bag and it's almost impossible not to spill.
Where you are eaten alive by mosquitoes,
And your knees are whiter than Wonder bread,
But you don't even care
Because you love it there!
 |
| Al Gran Pueblo Argentino, Salud! |
 |
| This pretty much sums up how I feel about Argentina. |
