I Have a Theory
Not only is Japan turning me into a cuter person than nature ever intended for me to be, Japan also does not want me to be a nice person. You may remember the Great Infestation immediately following my participation in the Orphanage Christmas Party. I was not best pleased, and retreated (a bit sullenly) to America to tend to my wounds and be showered in presents.
But I apparently didn't learn my lesson.
Yesterday, on a meandering walk through Kajiki Town with L in which we said, "Konnichi wa" to every happy resident we passed (including the old man who was sweeping leaves in front of his house, then laughing and shaking his head in an adorable old-man way whenever the wind blew more into his path), rode on springy frog and kangaroo rides, and during which the memorable line, "A plastic squirrel into my vag!" was uttered*... I tried to help a stray cat.
This would seem to be my first mistake.
The cat looked like it was made entirely of fur, bones, and a burning desire for fish. Looking into its mangy little face, I realized I couldn't just abandon it. So I had L guard the cat while I ran home to grab the kitty-kibble I stocked up on after the last time I tried to help a stray (only to realize that - as a vegetarian - I had little in the way of food to offer it).
I packed the kitty-kibble, a plate, a bowl, and a bottle of water into my monstrous purse, and bolted out the door to begin the furball rescue. On my mad rush, I forgot to pay attention to how many stairs there are at my apartment, so I missed the last one.
There were disastrous consequences.
I ended up on my butt at the bottom of the stairs minus a shoe and with the distinct impression that I'd felt my ankle crackling like rice krispies in milk. My kind neighbor-lady (bringer of coffee and Pocari Sweat on my first day here) asked me if I were okay. I replied I was fine, but my wrist was a little... At her look, I amended that to "My ankle is a little..."** and wanted to add my brain may be "a little," as well. I stood up, located and replaced my ballet flat in its proper place upon my foot, and hobbled away after assuring her that really, no, I was fine, and yes, perhaps a trip to the pharmacy wasn't a bad idea.
The cat was gone by the time I made it back, stupid beast. So I've been shuffling around my apartment Igor-like, entertaining myself by occasionally rubbing my hands together and cackling evilly.
But the point is this: I don't think Japan wants me to be a nice person. Japan also clearly has a double-standard. Kind neighbor-lady brought me neat, sticky footwraps that make my ankle feel the way my mouth does after chewing Winterfresh gum and then drinking water; no harm befell her immediately after. I only hope that I don't get struck by lightning or something after I make kabocha muffins for her.
*We now understand why the adorable woodland creature see-saw is only for tiny children.
** Te-kubi is wrist (direct translation: hand-neck); ashi-kubi is ankle (foot/leg-neck). Understandably, body part names are easy to confuse.
But I apparently didn't learn my lesson.
Yesterday, on a meandering walk through Kajiki Town with L in which we said, "Konnichi wa" to every happy resident we passed (including the old man who was sweeping leaves in front of his house, then laughing and shaking his head in an adorable old-man way whenever the wind blew more into his path), rode on springy frog and kangaroo rides, and during which the memorable line, "A plastic squirrel into my vag!" was uttered*... I tried to help a stray cat.
This would seem to be my first mistake.
The cat looked like it was made entirely of fur, bones, and a burning desire for fish. Looking into its mangy little face, I realized I couldn't just abandon it. So I had L guard the cat while I ran home to grab the kitty-kibble I stocked up on after the last time I tried to help a stray (only to realize that - as a vegetarian - I had little in the way of food to offer it).
I packed the kitty-kibble, a plate, a bowl, and a bottle of water into my monstrous purse, and bolted out the door to begin the furball rescue. On my mad rush, I forgot to pay attention to how many stairs there are at my apartment, so I missed the last one.
There were disastrous consequences.
I ended up on my butt at the bottom of the stairs minus a shoe and with the distinct impression that I'd felt my ankle crackling like rice krispies in milk. My kind neighbor-lady (bringer of coffee and Pocari Sweat on my first day here) asked me if I were okay. I replied I was fine, but my wrist was a little... At her look, I amended that to "My ankle is a little..."** and wanted to add my brain may be "a little," as well. I stood up, located and replaced my ballet flat in its proper place upon my foot, and hobbled away after assuring her that really, no, I was fine, and yes, perhaps a trip to the pharmacy wasn't a bad idea.
The cat was gone by the time I made it back, stupid beast. So I've been shuffling around my apartment Igor-like, entertaining myself by occasionally rubbing my hands together and cackling evilly.
But the point is this: I don't think Japan wants me to be a nice person. Japan also clearly has a double-standard. Kind neighbor-lady brought me neat, sticky footwraps that make my ankle feel the way my mouth does after chewing Winterfresh gum and then drinking water; no harm befell her immediately after. I only hope that I don't get struck by lightning or something after I make kabocha muffins for her.
*We now understand why the adorable woodland creature see-saw is only for tiny children.
** Te-kubi is wrist (direct translation: hand-neck); ashi-kubi is ankle (foot/leg-neck). Understandably, body part names are easy to confuse.