Less than a week remains of my wonderfully informative voyage here in almost-South America. Since Saturday I have been free to do as I wish, as I finished my classes the day before, and I have been doing so extravagantly and excessively. I bring good tidings on the grade front as well: I got that paper done (and you thought I would never do it!), and I also got a 97% in my Spanish class, which is probably totally like the third highest grade ever (which was only brought down because I called the teacher a nasty name on accident, every day, and then in another freak accident, I hit her that time, with a sledgehammer).
But that is just water under the bridge, eh? Now I am on to bigger and better things, like watching movies in Spanish with nary an English subtitle to be seen. I swear, I understand at least three sentences, sometimes nearing about six; though one time it was eight (though, technically, four of them were the same, because they repeated the same thing over and over again… but I would say that counts… yes?)!
In addition, I have taken up residence with a Tico family (a new, different one), who I may have mentioned before. Chris, Angie, Harry, and Nesskens all love having me with them very much. So much that they rarely ever invite me to their house and then turn on the television, leaving me to my own devices for two hours for no apparent reason, followed by an awkward conversation about what “we” should do next time. Now they do not need to invite me, because I am already here. They can just do all those things with one less step, what luck! Seriously though, I think at least Angie enjoys my company because I actually wash my own dishes (and hers, and everyone else’s) as opposed to throwing them in the sink while she is washing other ones.
For the past three days I have visited a local high school and given a speech about myself for their English class (so, yes, it was in English). The teacher there is named Hilda Paniaqua (her last name means “bread and water”, which I find funny), and she told me I could come back anytime and help her out with pronunciation and what-have-you. Perhaps I shall. Lord knows that if the girls in my high school liked to tell me I am handsome and ask me out as much as these girls have been doing, I would have had a much more active love life. Alas, sadly most of them scarcely are even have 66% of my years behind their innocent brac—I mean faces, so it just is not meant to be. I shall just have to keep to myself following all those “No Sex Tourism” signs they have at the airport, because they are so darn convincing!
Unhappily I prepare to give Costa Rica my salutations and board the plane to Texas, crying the whole way. By the time I reach Minnesota, my face and airplane pillow should be dry, so I look forward to meeting whomever shows up with a cheery disposition and presents galore*. Of course, I do not expect anyone other than my mom (my other mom, not either one from here) to show up, because I think I left my car at her house, and I am going to need that back.
Next time you hear from me, I will sum up life in Costa Rica in one beautiful and heart-wrenching post, which will probably make you cry more than that one time Derek Shouster called you a “big fat dummy-face” and then stole your chocolate cupcake in third grade.
Well, maybe not. You did cry a lot back then, and it will probably be a tough contest. Gosh, what a baby you were!
I love you, almost as much as I love delicious, melty ice cream (which is a lot), and I will see you soon!
P.S. Actually, I am pretty sure that I love delicious, melty ice cream a whole lot more than I love you, because I am not consuming your inexpensive (only $1!) and caramely (oh goodness the caramely goodness!) body at the moment, which means you have a long way to go; maybe next time.
*One of these two things may be in short supply, though that is a surprise for another day
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