When you'd be better off wearing your birthday suit

One night, I had just finished eating dinner at The Girls’ house, and they began preparing a concoction of the most disgusting ingredients they had – water we had used to wash beans off our fingers, water soaking in the cornmeal mush patty pot (complete with cornmeal mush chunks), sand, ash, you get the idea. It wasn’t to drink, but almost as unappetizing, it was to give someone a surprise bath. Not just any random person. Who? Rosita. Why? It was her birthday. It’s tradition.

We walked to Rosita’s house at around 9pm (normally on one’s 21^st birthday the fun would be just starting, but this is Nauela, so Rosita was in her house, already bathed and ready for bed). The Girls carried their buckets of slop to the porch, and lured her outside with claims like, “No! We would never dump dirty water on your head!” She finally stepped outside and her screams and attempts to flee were met with splashing sounds, and the need for another bath.

Personally, I’d much rather be in Mexico on my birthday, and have my face plunged into my own cake.