I would like to start this out by apologizing to KrisAnn for my use of that word in the title of this post. I tried really hard to think of a good synonym, but nothing had quite the same ring.
A few weeks ago, due to reasons which I just tried to pencil out and realized are really inconsequential to the story I am telling and really rather dull (look at me trying to be a better story teller!), I arrived in Mafinga (the closest town to me on a paved road–lacking of a bank, however) with very little money and five giant boxes which I had just received from America (thank you so much everyone!!). I had to get to my village that night and the closest bank is an hour up the road. With little choice, I concluded that a trip to Iringa, although unwanted, was imminent. Five huge boxes seemed like a huge pain to drag with me on a dala an hour up the road to the ATM and back, so I went to the post office (where I have some friends) and asked if I could leave my bag (I was coming back from Thanksgiving) and boxes there for 2 hours so I could run to the ATM. It was Saturday so the post office closes at noon, but I promised I would be back by then (which gave me 3 hours). They kindly consented and I boarded what looked like a fast coaster to Iringa. By the time I reached the ATM, I realized I would be cutting it really close. I quickly got my money and got on another coaster back to Mafinga. This coaster managed to get a flat tire along the way. Upon realization that I would not make it on time, I tried to frantically call/text the post office people to wait for me, to little avail.
We pull into the stand in Mafinga an hour late and right as we pull in it starts to pour (just my luck). As we park, no one even attempts to get off the coaster. It is really coming down. Because I was so late (and I really do like the rain), I made a flash decision to make a run for it. The post office is right next to the bus stand, after all.
To rewind a little bit, you need to know that a few months prior to this, my dog decided it would be hilarious to eat a bunch of my underwear (which, for the record, is not at all hilarious). For this, my mom had just mailed me some new underwear. And by new I mean new to Africa, not new to me. The underwear she mailed me was underwear which I had left at home. Underwear that was so bad it had been rejected from coming to Africa with me in the first go-around. Due to necessity, I was wearing a pair of these on this day. This particular pair was so old the elastic at the top was not so elastic-y anymore.
Fast forward to me running…in a dress…through the rain…with underwear on that had no elastic. Not a good mix. As I ran, my underwear just fell off me. Like to my ankles off. In a split second decision, which I hope you don’t judge me for, I stepped out of them and just kept running. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The post office was so nice, and they stayed open until I returned. I waited at the post office until the rain died down, and then made the walk of shame back to the bus stand. Strangely enough, my underwear was no longer there. I don’t know what to think of this, so I am just not going to think too much about it.
Moral of the story: Yay for elastic!