In my first class today I recieved a gift. Paul came into the room with a sneaky grin on his face and one hand in his pocket.
"What do you have there?" I asked.
For those of you hoping it might be a soft-serve ice cream promotional doll, or one of the Michelin Man's many illegitimate children, I'm sorry to bring to your attention that it is in fact...
A pink, anthropomorphic pile of shite, with beady eyes and a namesake grin. This precious little pile is a legitimate children's toy, which gives me cause for concern. You can only romanticize dung so much without leading to severe misconceptions about the stuff. Rather unlike a cloud of cotton candy in reality, dung is not fun or friendly, and serves primarily as a way to spoil nice walks in the park and as ammunition for angry monkeys.
I'm not sure what "Banggut Banggut" means, and I'm not sure I want to. Sure, you can buy rubber dog doo at a joke shoppe back home, but it doesn't have eyes to look back at you, and a proud grin to announce: "Here I am and I love life!"
I imagine the "pet rock" craze of the 70's and think of how much worse things might get...
A Canadian writer teaches English and finds out what it's like to be a foreigner.