it’s always precipitating on Halloween

Somehow, I have a knack for being both physically and mentally blundering.  “Boluda” is a word in castellano [as the porteños call their Spanish] which describes this behavior well.  This term can either be an adjective or a noun, or even a verb.  For example, when I am in the car with Santiago and his brother Agustin, and they are singing at the top of their lungs and have the windows rolled down to shout at pedestrians, I click my tongue and reprimand them for being such “boludos” and for participating in such “boludeces”.  Clucking my tongue is such prissy old hen behavior, I know, but the two of them together really is a quilombo [a disaster].  For my part, though, I swear that my own boludeces are more accidental, a consequence of my clumsy wiring.
Today it’s raining “a cántaros” [cats and dogs], and I have to say that when I set out this morning to deliver freshly baked banana bread to Santiago’s parents, I was not well prepared.  They were watching baby Bruno for the day, so I spent a few hours with them cooing over the baby, and then decided I would try to meet a friend for coffee.  Partway through my journey the subway delayed because of the rain, and my friend was busy anyway, so I decided to turn around and head home by foot.  Popping out of the subway is always an adventure for me, because unless it’s a station I use often, I become very disoriented and have to spend a few minutes walking back and forth, trying to determine where I am.  I could pull out a map, or ask for directions, but for some reason I feel like people will judge me if I admit I’m lost, and I’m too proud to do it.  Instead, I wander around wide-eyed and get judged anyway by the people I pass repeatedly in my circling.  Following this behavior pattern was the beginning of my boluda behavior today.
Eventually I found my route and hummed as I walked, because coming from dry Colorado, the rain really does make me happy.  Unfortunately, though, being from such a dry climate, I am not well adapted to travelling in wet conditions.  In my attempts to dodge small puddles, I somehow always land in an even bigger pool of water than the one I am avoiding.  I even got cheers from a group of people standing under a store’s awning as I made one spectacular leap over-puddle-into-pond.  They probably cheered because they were far enough away not to be bothered by the puddle shrapnel flying everywhere.  At least my boluda missteps are gratifying to everybody else.
The best thing about the word “boluda” is that it always refers, however subtly, to amusement.  Because even when the elderly gentleman on the colectivo [bus] comments on the group of 16-year-old boludos making lots of noise, he speaks with a knowing and affectionate twinkle in his eye 😉