My shoes STINK. When I say that, I don't just mean they kind of smell bad. I don't just mean that one or two people say something every day. I mean the milk curdling, nose wrinkling kind of stink. The stink that makes me think if I had a dollar for every time someone complained about how badly my feet stank, I'd have enough money to buy myself several pairs of new shoes. However there is a saying among the shoe community that goes something along the lines of, "The more you're worn, the more you stink: The more you're loved, at least, I think". Actually there's no such thing but we can just pretend. I started off the normal process I do every time I need money. Step 1: Ask dad so many questions on Google chat he gets flustered and quits responding. Step 2: Go to the ATM on the off chance my debit card magically healed itself. Step 3: Beg dad to message me back, consider offering to clean my room when I get back, decide its not worth it. Step 4: Finally hear from dad and figure out a temporary solution. The temporary solution this time was wiring money! Genius. Magic computer particles transfer into another magic receptacle and BOOM: there's the money. Or at least that is what I understand about the science behind it. Happy to have this brilliant plan worked out, I headed to the bank, Anna by my side. My hopes and dreams and shattered around me like vases in an antique store. I tried to scramble to stop falling deeper into the depths of my own despair. The cause for my angst? I was informed I needed two forms of ID. TWO FORMS??? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS??? YOU THINK I'M ALLOWED TO DRIVE???? Just kidding my license was stolen but while we're on the subject here's a tangent: my grandma has never ever driven in my lifetime that I can remember, yet she was the one who taught me how to drive. She always told me that the hood ornament in the middle of the car had to line up with the white line on the side. It was only two weeks before leaving the U.S. that I found out not everyone drives that way....my boyfriend had food poisoning and entrusted me to drive his car to pick up food. He rode in the passenger seat and we quickly discovered that due to him not having a hood ornament, I was unable to stay in the lane. Despite his illness, he decided I can never again drive his car, and he completed the journey for our sandwiches. Snap back to the bank fiasco: Ladies try over and over to explain I need two forms of ID, while I repeat that I only have one. Finally, after giving each other looks of exasperation, they informed me that if I had to money wired to a friend *wink wink* who had two forms of ID, they'd be more than happy to hand over the money. That night I relayed the day's events to my host mom. She was shocked by what I told her, certain that I should be able to get my money with one form of ID. She more or less reenacted a scenario in which I would go back to the bank, demand my money in the name of stinky shoes everywhere, and walk out triumphant. In her scenario, she said, "Threaten to talk to their boss!! Peru is a very poor country. There's a good chance they're doing something shady and will be scared into helping you!!" then she said, if that failed I should say, "Ask me anything about the transaction!! I can prove to you I am supposed to have this money!! Ask me my father's birthday, his second last name..." at this point I had to refrain from breaking the news that Americans do not use second last names, and this would have, in fact, made the situation worse. Then, worst of all, she said I should say "There is nothing suspicious going on here!!" which I think would have to be the number one suspicious sentences of all times. My dad always used to tell me I needed to wash my clothes before they walked off on their own. My question now is, self sufficient clothes,: gross or the stuff our future is made of???