So I’ve been on this world race “trip” for a while now, and I think I can definitely say with some certainty that, being in month 4, the following are signs that you are most definitely on the world race.
· You wash your shoes filthy shoes for the first time in 4 months, feel amazingly excited and accomplished and you set them on a ledge to do a little victory dance only to turn back around and realize they’ve fallen off the ledge and back into the dirt that’s actually more like red dust and are now somehow even dirtier than they were before.
· All of your clothes are now ten sizes too big, and as much as you want to believe it, it’s not because you’re losing weight, but because you actually haven’t had a dryer in 4 months. Hey, tall tees are still in style, right?
· Two words, one dream: PEANUT. BUTTER. You know that anytime you can find this gem for under 10 dollars, it’s a good day. Peanut butter on bread, peanut butter on apples, peanut butter on oatmeal, peanut butter in noodles, peanut butter on tortillas, peanut butter in hot chocolate, peanut butter in cereal…peanut butter straight out of the jar and into your mouth…
· You’re feet are absolutely without a doubt never clean for longer than 5 consecutive minutes. Never. Never, ever ever. Doesn’t matter how many baby wipes you use. Not going to happen.
· You know that bug spray is a way of life. And if that bad boy isn’t at least 98% deet, get it out of my face.
· If you struggle on the daily with what language you’re supposed to be speaking. Sometimes I’m speaking Spanish and truly believing in my heart that it’s English. Sometimes it’s reverse. Sometimes I try to speak English and it doesn’t even make any sense. Sometimes I think I’ve responded to the question but really I’ve only responded in my head. THE STRUGGLE.
· You’ve memorized the 5 steps to the ‘Getting Clothed’ Process:
1. Smell clothing items that you wish to wear at a distance, just in case they smell so rank that you jeopardize your own health by inhaling their fumes.
2. If you complete step one still conscious and breathing, then proceed to smell clothing at a closer distance to more accurately distinguish whether items are indeed wearable.
3. If you’re unsure whether clothing passes the smell test, or your nose is just too congested to distinguish clean and fresh from eroding sewage, then it’s time to proceed to step 3: ask a friend. Make sure they’re a good friend, because they’re going to be taking a big whiff of you’re possibly deadly clothing. Make sure you reciprocate this step of the smell test whenever said friend requires your assistance.
4. If clothing items pass all of the 3 proceeding steps, then it’s time to decide how many times you’ve worn the clothing items in the past 5 days. The rule of thumb is this:
a. If you’ve worn it for more than three consecutive days, then bro, it’s definitely time to pick something else. Less than two days, you’re definitely good to go. If it’s been exactly three days, you’re going to need to ask a friend to give you permission.
5. Make sure you’re dressing to the occasion. If you’re clothes are clean and you’ve worn them for less than two consecutive days (or gotten permission), then it’s time to make sure you’re not going to be looking like a fool in church where everyone else is wearing long pants and skirts and you’re in your shorts that actually look like swimming trunks (yeah. I have a pair). My rule of index finger (since I already used the thumb in the last step) is to keep it clothed below the knees unless you’re sure you can set them free (trademark Bree Rossi, 2014)
· You’ve got some seriously righteous tan lines on your feet. Doesn’t matter if they’re Chocos or flip-flops or your Nikes. You’re feet may never be the same (and you’re probably proud of it).
· If you put on makeup, people notice (and probably ask you what you’re doing). If you shave your legs, people probably also notice (and probably still ask you what you’re doing).
· You hear AT LEAST, at a bare minimum, seventeen roosters every single night. Not just the “normal” morning roosters, either, no sir. I’m talking mutant roosters that don’t understand how not to sound like they’re being murdered, or how to not make those special, little ‘being murdered’ sounds at hours that are not 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 7 in the morning.
· You’re a pro at packing. You might not really know where any of your stuff actually is, but hey, it’s somehow staying in a pack that’s basically ready to explode open on every side, so you’re not asking questions.
· You understand and accept that selfies are a way of life. Selfies on top of a volcano, selfies walking to the top of a volcano, selfies making dinner with headlamps, selfies eating dinner with headlamps, selfies digging dirt, selfies wheel-barrowing dirt, selfies on your host’s camera, selfies with your hosts’ dog…there is no shame.
· The answer to, “Do you want to eat?” is “ALWAYS.” The more chocolate in the item for eating, the louder the always.
· You understand that every form of transportation (chicken bus, back of a truck, bike, four wheeler, moto-taxi) carries with it a 60% chance that you’re not going to make it out alive. #timetopray
· You hear these questions at least 10 times every single day:
1. “Can I wear this?”
2. “Does this smell?”
3. “What time is it?”
4. “Do I have time for a nap?”
5. “Can I eat this?”
6. “Will you check my [bed, bag, hair] for spiders?”
7. “Soooo…what are we doing today again?”
8. “How dirty am I right now?”
9. “Are we seriously about to do this?”
10. “…Did you just fart?”
· Chickens. You’ve come to know that there are just…chickens….everywhere. Always. Chickens.
· You find yourself having serious conversations with…animals. Sometimes you’re asking them to smell you. Sometimes you’re telling them not to eat your food. Most of the time, you’re asking them to get away from you. Other times, you’re threatening them with fates worse than death (in the cases of spiders, snakes, mosquitos…all bugs, really).
· You’ve become a singer, and you sing a lot. In church, at parties, for your host, for the kids, for the prisoners, for no reason at all. And you also get cut off. A lot.
· Your water bottle smells like a pond. And while you’re not going to stop complaining about it, you’re also not going to stop drinking out of it.
· Nothing surprises you anymore. Cows shutting down the road? Normal. Riding in the back of a truck on lawn chairs? Of course. Lizards in your bed? Where else would they be? Being asked to preach a sermon your first night in town? It happens. It’s just the world race!
That’s all I’ve got for now. Until next time!
Bree
