On the Pretentiousness of Travelers #6

Look at me! IMG_0909.jpg No makeup. No fishface kiss at the camera.  You won’t see this picture on instagram.

Do you see my pants?  I think they’re made of burlap!  If Mom saw me, she’d tell me I looked like Gravel Gertie.  Yeah, I don’t know who that is either.

I ripped my only pair of pants jumping off a milk truck.  A milk truck!  Actually, that’s a whole other story.  I bought these pants at a market—like a Target, but outside.  Pots and pans, and pants and shirts, and sandwiches—little buns with slices of pig’s head.  No, really, they were yummy.

My teeth have a cruddy film on them because I just can’t brush them well in the jungle. And do I care?  No.  I’m in the jungle!  I’m sleeping in a hut on stilts—with no electricity, no plumbing, and an outhouse.  I feel like Robinson Crusoe!

I do have four mosquito bites on my ass.  They itch so bad.  I need to remember to DEET my butt so when I pee in the outhouse at night, I don’t get malaria. Now that would suck.

You know what’s most amazing?  I haven’t looked in the mirror in days, days.  Days!  And it’s interesting, I haven’t, not once, compared myself to another person, noticed my short legs or my squinty eyes or my big calves or even felt fat.  Actually, to tell you the truth, I haven’t once felt bad about myself.  Actually, really, I haven’t thought much about myself at all.

Why do you think that is?

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