Bad Romance

Sex, love, and dating are different, strange, hairy animals in the Peace Corps.  I’ve seen many a chick flick or read a trashy advice columnist that touted the benefits of keeping mystery in a relationship.  Don’t let the man see you put on makeup or hear you fart.  Familiarity breeds contempt.

Any attempt at sexy mystery is doomed to failure in the Peace Corps.  It’s unavoidable that we share poop stories, or that another volunteer will be with you during a poop story in the making.  It is certain that you will have a public breakdown at one point or another.  We don’t get proper hot showers for weeks.  Female volunteers wander around with armpit hair that would make a viking blush. 

This shameless sharing brings closeness of another sort.  I’ve shared situations with my friends here that I’ve never experienced with others.  Levels of physical suffering, sadness, and filth that are rarely reached in the U.S., and certainly not in company. 

And it’s generally a lonely life, so we volunteers look to each other for comfort and levels of understanding deeper than many other relationships.  There’s a current of understanding and love running between volunteers in my group.  Hook-ups and relationships happen despite a lack of mystery and long distance bus travel. 

I haven’t had a whole lot of luck in the PC romance department, just one brief fling with a friend.  At one point, my paramour rolled over and said, “What would happen if I started trumpeting [farting loud and uncontrollably] right now?”  We cracked up.  I’d like to say that none of the other fellows in my past would’ve said that to me (though it’s probably not true). But there’s a level of comfort and a lack of pretension here that’s refreshing.  It’s impossible to keep up facades, so we do away with them all together. 

Maybe I’ll be ready for mystery when I get back to the states, but until then, let’s keep it smelly and straightforward.  Attractive, no?