We moved into our new apartment on Sunday night. It's a 3rd floor studio in an old building made of white volcanic stone. It has lovely hardwood floors and a low arched ceiling - Ben says it's like living in an airplane hangar. When he washes dishes at the sink, which is up against the wall, he has to duck. The shower is a cube built out from the wall with a translucent plastic sliding door - Ben barely fits inside and I can watch him struggling to find space to lather himself up. It's hilarious. He has to duck to get his head under the water. The room itself is about 300 square feet and the toilet is walled off with a little door (thank god), but that's it, everything else is open space.
On Sunday night, Ben stood in the middle of the room, mouth gaping, flossing his teeth. I could hear the crack and pop of the floss sliding into each space and I saw particles shoot out with tiny squirts of saliva. We have daily bouts of diarrhea, which can be noisy, but that does not bother me in the slightest. We discuss it openly as if it were the weather - but the flossing? Yuck, turn your back or go into the toilet enclosure PLEASE.
In other news, we're really enjoying the food. Peruvian cuisine is great and they are huge on dessert - which is such a coincidence because so the eff am I. There are cake and pastry shops everywhere, kiosks selling bars of chocolate every 4 feet and half the food is smothered in dulce de leche. It's heavenly. Fortunately, Ben is like a PMSing woman when it comes to chocolate and cake, so I don't even have to get dessert alone. Easter holiday starts Thursday, so there will be loads of dessert vendors all over the streets and I'm super excited. I will give myself diabetes 3.
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