So, I see that that picture didn’t come up. I’ll figure it out one of these days.
Let me give you a quick outline of my health so far in Morocco: the first few days I was healthy as a horse on steroids. Then, I got the berber’s revenge. Then it cleared up, but only because the Berbers went for reinforcement. For a day I had the Berber’s and Montagnard’s and Kosovar’s and Chechen’s revenge. Suffice it to say that they kicked my ass.
Yesterday, all of a sudden, despite it being 90 degrees out, I was absolutely freezing. And then around 8 pm my throat swelled juuuuust almost shut. So it hurts to breathe, talk, or swallow. And since I haven’t gotten out of bed in two days, my doopah has gone completely flat and sore.
So, Morocco is rife with cute girls. And they all think I am awesome, because they haven’t heard any of my jokes before. I was so entertaining saturday night at the pub that couscous came out a young ladies’ nose. That’s how hard she was laughing. But this has its downfall: I went to get a beer, and heard a young lady telling one of my jokes despite the fact that she wasn’t there when I told it the first time. The ladies are talking about me behind my back… I guess Morocco isn’t really that different from the US. Don’t worry though- three months from now, when I’ve exhausted my joke supply, they’ll go back to thinking I’m a cad.
Just like in the US, young ladies are deft experts at using menfolk. What does this mean to me? Any time a young lady goes outside of the Villa in which we live, I’ve got to escort her to make sure she doesn’t get hasseled by young men. I guess I give them a sense of security. They’re going to be pretty surprised when they realize how false a sense of security that is.