speaking of naked..

so i was lurking at jonniker's the other day (as i am wont to do) and she directed us to her guest posting at she likes purple, but also suggested we read SLP's naked post for a good laugh.

which... oh my. reminded me of a naked experience of my own.

so when i lived in france my junior year of college, i was super broke and didn't get to travel around a lot like all my other friends. when i got my tax refund near the end of the year, i decided to blow the whole thing on a trip. and not just any trip: someplace SUPER COOL where i wouldn't normally get to go. i decided on morocco, since

a) they speak french there as a secondary language to arabic, which i do not speak, and
b) africa!! neato!!! and
c) it's 823623 times easier to get there from france than from the states, so this seemed like a good time to pop my africa cherry.

so! i rounded up a gal friend and a guy friend and we booked our tickets.

we'd heard that going to the bath houses was one of those things you just HAVE to do when you're in morocco; that most westerners stick to the touristy stuff, but if you wanted to get the REAL experience, you should go to a bath house, they're awesome and relaxing and indulgent, etc etc etc. so i did some research and found one in... hmm, marakesh, most likely. the guidebook gave a street name and an address. off we went.

we bumbled around the maze of alleyways ("street names" and "house numbers" apparently only existing in guidebooks, and not actually visible anywhere in person) until we found the corner i was fairly certain we wanted to be on. as we stood there peering up and down the alleyway, looking for a sign, or a picture of water, or ANY INDICATION AT ALL that a bathhouse might be nearby, we were accosted by a large man speaking welcomingly in arabic, trying to usher us into a doorway. after a 5-minute exchange of charades, we finally came to the (not entirely confident) conclusion that he was the Official Bath House Sidewalk Accoster and that the completely unmarked wooden door behind us was the bath house. maybe. or else we were going to get beaten and robbed inside. we shrugged and walked in anyway- into 2 separate doors, of course; one bath house for women, and one for men.

once inside, my friend E. and i found ourselves in an empty room with a wooden bench and some cubbies. a large, squat arab woman came in and mimed that we should take off our clothes and put them in a cubby. so we stripped down to our bras and underwear, then stood around awkwardly until the woman came back. she shook her head vehemently, mimed that we had to take ALL our clothes off, and wandered away again. soo... we took off our underwear, and then... stood there again. buck naked.

the squat arab woman came back, this time stripped down to just (um, very well-worn) undies herself, carrying 2 plastic buckets of water. she motioned us to follow her, so we padded back into the next room, which consisted of a concrete floor and tiled walls, with spigots about a foot and a half up the wall in a few places. she motioned us to sit down near one of the spigots as a second arab woman - also clad exclusively in cotton undies - materialized, and the two of them got to work scrubbing down E. and i with sponges as we sat awkwardly on the concrete floor.

to recap: E. and i - who had not, at this juncture in our relationship, ever had reason or opportunity to hang around each other in the nude - were now both COMPLETELY NAKED, sitting side by side on a concrete floor, having buckets of water poured on us by two middle aged, squat, mostly-naked moroccan women. it was.. um.. a new experience.

so... i keep describing E.'s moroccan in particular as "squat." this is because she was short - probably 5'1", on a good day - but, um, not exactly a little slip of a thing. to be fair, i can't imagine you can carry around boobs that size without being forced to fill out your hips and stomach, because otherwise i don't think she'd be able to stand without toppling over.

OH MY SWEET JESUS, i had never seen boobs this size before. each one was about twice the size of my head. and they were just.. um.. hanging around. unfettered. as she went about her business of washing my naked friend. and i swear i am not exaggerating this next part, but she apparently had an itch on her ribcage at one point, so she paused, lifted up her boob to rest it on her shoulder, scratched underneath, then replaced the boob.

RESTED. IT. ON. HER. SHOULDER.

so, uh, i don't even know where to go with this post now. i don't know how to end a story that deals entirely with gargantuan boobs and hanging out naked on concrete floors (with friends!). also: i suspect i will now have all sorts of keyword searches leading here that i am not going to like.