American Ice

This morning/afternoon I decided to lay back and be American. Sometimes I get tired of cultural differences and trying to be respectful, so today I felt lazy. For instance, this morning I was planning my schedule for the day, something my boyfriend rarely, if ever, does. As he sat listening to Pai and an admiring visitor from Sao Paulo talking about any and everything, my mind was on laundry, a shower, and how I could best achieve both of those things in the least amount of time. I decided I could throw my laundry in the machine while leaving Joaquim to talk, or rather listen, and return to take a shower and be done with both by the time anyone even noticed. And then I remembered I was at Lar Batista.

When I finally convinced Joaquim to walk down to his house to open doors for me, considering everything here is under lock and key, the laundry room was already quite occupied. So my promised, "it will just be 5 minutes..." was already broken. Whoops. After about 20 minutes of chatting, once again I looked at the laundry room and put my clothes in the machine. After about 30 minutes I checked and realized it hadn't been filling up, just water flowing through. So finally, after I put everything where it needed to be, it started to wash. I then got involved in looking at stuff about Moody and financial aid and student visas and I-20 forms online with Joaquim, and eventually left to go take a shower. When I returned, I was walking through the front yard and felt a bee land on my forearm, sting me, and fly away. I have no idea what I did to provoke such a thing, but I had been stung. I arrived in the house, desiring the one thing every American "needs" after basically any injury: ICE.

I remember when I was still living in Londrina...Joaquim visited and we were making chocolate chip cookies. He burned his finger taking a cookie sheet out of the oven, and it got a little swollen and red. What is my first reaction? Naturally, run it under freezing cold water and if necessary, procure some ice and a plastic bag or a rag with which to hold it. When I said that, he looked and me and said "that's such an American thing to say..." and proceeded to rub a piece of his hair between his fingers, one burnt and the other not. This, apparently, was supposed to cure his burn. So, after his remedy, I instituted mine, and all was right with the world. I also forced some ice on him a few days ago when he had 3 blisters on the palm of his hand, and he admitted with some surprise that it really worked. Of course, ice is the miracle curer.

So, now my arm has been iced, I have taken a shower, and my clothes are just finishing the spin cycle in the washer, soon to be hung in the hot sun that is shining so brightly today.