Buenos Aires is the Paris of the south. That may be true. The architecture, bustling streets and café life certainly do bear resemblance. But I have an inkling that Buenos Aires comes out on top in one thing: dog shit.
My track record is pretty good at stepping clear. I’ve trod in shit once in my 16 years in Buenos Aires, grandly at that. It took an old toothbrush and boiling water to get it out of the treads of my running shoes. My vision of the city narrowed after that. I stopped gazing at the architectural gems and the beautiful people. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk and the paving stones to avoid the shit here, the shit there and the shit everywhere.
I’m afraid that nobody else seems to give a shit but me and my family. Except now. It appears that many people read my last post about a shitty incident and the shit pileup outside my house in Colegiales. You would think that people would say, “What a shit!” and “We’ve got to clean up this shit!” But no, they’re saying, “Shit almighty, this shitty American is shitting on us and our city and we’re not going to take his shit. This shit-face is throwing too much shit at us, and it’s outright shitty thing to say that our city is a shit!”
Yes, this time I have dug myself into deep shit. I’ve offended dog owners far and wide, for they have come to protest in front of my house, one after the other, dog after dog to shit on the sidewalk, with big shit, hard shit, soft shit and wet shit, all on my doorstep. In less than 24 hours, my record of stepping in one shit in 16 years has multiplied by four. All I can say, fellow residents of this fine city, is that shit happens, and it happens a whole shit of a lot in front of my house, if you get my shit.