Remember to Look Down

Making mistakes here is a part-time job. If it paid well, I'd be rolling in a steady bankroll.

Two days ago my host mother (Mae Noi) asked to see a picture of my girlfriend, and so I pulled up a picture of the two of us on my computer. "Ohh! Boot-tee-full," she said with the charismatic Thai smile, "How ole?" Still wrestling with Thai numbers, I thought to myself, Okay she's 21 so I have to say "sip-et" and not "sip-nyeung." "Sip-et." I said confidently, only to recieve what was quite possibly the most disgusted look I've ever seen from everyone around me. Oh shit. Sip-et is 11! "Oh no no! Yee-sip-et! Yee-sip-et!" Again, they looked at me quizically, counting out on their fingers the way up to nine. I was confused. What's so weird about a two year age difference? I wondered. "Nine years difference?" my host brother Thom asked, trying to clarify. Wait. What? Nine years? Ohhh they thought I said yee-sip-paedt (28). "No no...yee-sip-et!" I said with particular emphasis on the et, and finally they got it. Only in my failed attempts at Thai could I go from being a pedophile to dating a cougar in two seconds flat.

I've been to two night markets in the past two nights, people milling about from stand to stand, the smell of fried squid and freshly squeezed sap-ah-rhot seeping through the crowd. Here in Thailand, much like Japan, putting a smattering of English words on a shirt is hip, regardless if there is any true meaning behind it. Sometimes I don't think that the people truly know what they're wearing, although I suppose American shirts with foreign script probably are about the equivalent. I bought matching shirts with my host brother, that read "Latino Groove Work Out" in big letters, mine lime green and his neon yellow. Although, I could've opted for the VIRGINS WANTED shirt, but I decided declaring being a manwhore wasn't really on my to-do list. Now with my height, coupled with the contant barrage of new stimuli, I rarely, if ever look at the ground. Right after I bought it, I turned around and took one step, feeling the ground squish slightly beneath my feet. I looked down, my Chaco having made a perfect shoe imprint into a now squashed pile of shit. Everyone in sight laughed at me, and I couldn't help but laugh...I was that American kid that stepped in dog shit.