Wild Friday Nights

While many people my age are getting wasted, dancing at the disco, finding an unexpected love, socializing---- I am feeding a tiny cat meat paste off my finger.

Someone today back in the USA asked me "what [I] do out there for fun." Evenings like this are EXACTLY WHY I NEVER ANSWER THAT QUESTION HONESTLY. Seriously. Here's how I expect my life back in America to go:

Hottie: Oh wow, Peace Corps! That's amazing! So like, what did you do?
Me: Oh... you know... I did some things. With you know, like, organizations I guess. Or whatever.
Hottie: That sounds really fulfilling and rewarding.
Me: Ok Cool.
Hottie: So like, when you weren't digging wells and lifting up children from the squalors of poverty, like, what did you do?
Me: *pregnant pause* Ahhhhh.... well. You know. I really liked.... sunsets. Or I hung out with my friends.
Hottie: Oh cool! What were your friends' names??
Me: Patches. And Boomer. I mean, like, they were cats. Or whatever.
Hottie: You hung out with your cats?
Me: Well, not because I wanted to. But those losers kept coming over because they couldn't make friends of their own and they would make me watch movies and stuff. God, and there was this one time I was out getting a coffee but then I had to-- oh God. Wow! Is that Beyonce on television? She is so fierce, right??
Hottie: Wait, what were you saying? One time you were out getting a coffee.....? And then you had to leave to go build a school?
Me: Oh! Well... no. I mean, kind of. It was more like I had to feed a baby cat meat paste off my finger. It's not as lame as it sounds, really. You see, he was just having difficulty weaning and Patches's nipples were getting overworked, so I had to lay down on the floor with my fingers slathered in highly processed chicken paste so he would learn to lick it off. So yeah, I mean it was a school. Of sorts.
Hottie: I have to go. Forever.

All for the glory of America.


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