(Of course I’m sitting on a sardine throne. It’s Portugal.)
Wandering through the cereal aisle, she heard a commotion with me lodged between.
“NO. NOT MILK. HONEY.”
“I DON’T WANT MILK. HONEEY.”
“SI! YES! BZZZZZZZ. BZZZZZZZ. HONEY!”
While I was pretending to be a buzzing bee who was smelling flowers, she rounded the corner and I smiled and waved.
Azzooza saw me carrying cucumbers, and yogurt, while standing between two male fish butchers, and one female (are they butchers?), as well as a security guard. While the female and myself were bzzzzzing at one another, the security guard started walking away but yelling for me over his shoulder, and the older male fish butcher was physically pushing the super hot, tanned and green-eyed younger male fish butcher toward me while repeatedly saying “MEL shjfogblau aw fsshhhhjjjj gla blau MEL.” Or, at least, that’s what Portuguese sounds like to me – Spanish demolished by some Russian person (copyright Azza).
The young fish butcher looked like he didn’t know whether to kill himself, or commit murder suicide, himself and his elder. It was clear that the older man was trying to push him to take me to find the MEL, even though
the security guard had beat everyone and their mother and came sauntering back with this very MEL.
It’s too bad, because I would have been open to the idea of spending some time with a Portuguese person who might explain Portuguese bidets to me. I thought the Spaniards were a little fetishist about their bidets until I saw this –
The head doesn’t move, there’s no hose attachment, and it points downwards just like a faucet. And when one uses a faucet, they place their hands directly beneath the running water. So, am I supposed to lay on my back with my legs against the wall? And then on my stomach, but only after they amputate my legs?
Maybe I’m supposed to fill the bidet like a bucket and swish my ass in there? I DON’T KNOW WHY THIS IS SUCH A CHALLENGE. I am convinced this is some kind of Christian revenge for The Moorish Years. Whose with me?
Additionally. Someone please send help.
Today, I am grateful for:
1. Momma now being safely in Ottawa. AlhamduliLah.
2. Another day spent laughing so hard that I had tears rolling down my face on two different occasions. I will write it again – this is the first time in nearly a year that I am feeling whole and light and back to my normal self and sense of humour. Hurrah!
3. Trekking through Bairro Alto (where Jilly and me stayed three years back), to our haunts from then, finding all of them still intact and standing, including one of the lovely older women who baked and served us our breakfast on the daily at the pastry and coffee shoppe whose name I don’t in fact know because we could never figure it out, only that it was somehow linked to a church and they serve the absolute best pastries in all of Lisbon. (If you want to locate it, inbox me and I will send you photos and directions, but not a name.)
Lisbon | April 5, 2019