This weekend I spent in Margarita to celebrate the four days of the marriage of my friend Sandy Lane. If we think, a bridal soiree Margarita is the same as the movie Mamma Mia . The only difference being that go with Meryl Streep Creole dried hair. In guayabera (but not enguayabado) sit in the church while the priest home to the new couple by the rite express, "Good, in the name of the Father, do you want it to her? Do you you want him? Kiss photo with the priest, chao. Bring in the Caracas sifrina próoooxima who came to the island to get married! ". It has to be it. I have not seen the first priest to do a mass cut by 'calol "of the tropics.
In defense of the Vatican, this priest has given the first words that I have stuck in a mass. Already in the last part when the couple are out, the priest away from the apocalyptic message: "Only Christians throw to conceive" and offers a very good metaphor about love and religion. He explains that when God made Eve, he took from Adam's rib, which protects the heart. That has made the hearts flutter like crazy men. "The heart the man told the priest to the groom-only rest when it encounters the rib he took God to create his wife. " If the father Paul, more than a wanton a veil had been assembled there and run to the altar.
Back in the bunch of Pagans, suffer an experience that left me quietly wondering what I am. I explain my routine partying. Champañita am a courtesy at the entrance and then quieted me in the corner where my role Funj bar that grooms-to invite us right? - With my sips of whiskey a very kindly landlady is responsible for bringing me . Like all humans know, the drinks bring two things to the table: verbal incontinence about how some people dance and desire to pee.
on my desk I ask permission to get up and ask my landlady kind to tell me where is the bathroom of the house of feasting. Having reached this house was complicated. I do not expect less of the location of the bathroom. You see, the house where I am is very good for a party but to the detriment of that to get to it you have to drive by several dirt roads without signs. The address of the card it has been said: "When you say:" I do not know where the hell am I ", turn right. There is. " The bathroom, in support of my bladder, has a location so complex.
I enter the men's room. I look askance at the mirror as we usually do not see self-centered and turn toward the urinals. Looking at the ceiling because it has a postgraduate, I open my fly and ... "Hell, this tract is very high!" General "explanation for the female audience, the urinal starts at the chest and down to a little less knees. One gets there, doing his thing, shake it, shake it , and leaves.
I measure 1.70. I admit, I was always the youngest in my class even when the top of my house. There 'down' I have no problems, if I understand. But I have this urinal to a height where I have to stand on tiptoe and try to make a geyser to make my physiological role. I know the janitors complained that stain the floor but a lady, lend me the tobo to mount so you can not!
my feat - no splashing - and go. Feeling discriminated against by the architect, engineer and builder that surely are three meters and it seemed logical to put a urinal to match. But I'm not alone. As the evening progresses, the conversation between men is, "Pana, the urinal is as difficult, no?". That made me happy. I may be an Oompa Loompa but at least I'm not the only one with the problem. Women may complain to sit on the throne that community but we are men in trouble if you send us a leak in the loft .-