Since I’ve been here I sometimes have really great moments. And other times I don’t know why I’m here.

Today, I got my sock back.

I know sometimes I’m as dumb as a rock but I discovered something in my own building this week. What floor do I really live on, and how to get my sock back.

You see I live in a 150-year-old building on the 2nd floor. But in the elevator, you hit floor # 3 not 2.. Why is that important? It’s not, but in every place here the first floor is 0, as they count the ground floor as one. So when I get in my elevator I hit the # 3 as if the ground floor was #1.  But I don’t live on the 3^rd floor I live on the 2^nd.  Confused yet? I was but didn’t care as I needed a new place to live with AC when I found this place and despite my superstitious nature of weird things like that, I took the place.

 If my mother was alive, she might say it’s bad feng shui to have an apartment on a different floor than the elevator actually stops.  Maybe it means I’m not here. Or I live in the twilight zone. Maybe that’s why no one visits me. Hence when I went looking for the apartment below me it didn’t exist either. Creepy huh? Not to mention the creaky floor at night makes me think the place is haunted but I digress.

Anyway, I hang my clothes outside my tiny kitchen on a clothesline that stretches to the opposite wall of an interior space flanked by 4 walls; mine and what I thought was my neighbor beneath me. Three days ago I dropped my favorite thick red yoga sock with white rubber dots on the bottom while screwing around trying to hang my clothes. I overreached hanging out my window trying to clip the sock as I leaned out precariously.

I watched it fall the two,  no, one story below me to the bottom tiled patio. Damn. Remember there is no Walmart here I can’t run out and buy another pair with rubber dots on the bottom. There is no yoga store, no sock store. No Target. It’s my only pair too.

This was a huge loss as I finally found a free yoga class in the park near me and since my feet are deformed from my arthritis I need to wear socks so I don’t slip and no one sees my butt ugly toes.  So thinking there was an apartment beneath me with access to the interior patio I wrote up a little note in Spanish and went downstairs to the floor below me to leave it on their door; “Hola, blah blah, please return said sock I’m in 2 B”in my google translated Spanish.

Well I found out there was no apartment beneath me. Only a locked mystery door as I stepped off the elevator. Uh oh. Weird.  I’m thinking damn, ok well it must be the building next to me and  I’ll never be able to get it now. Every apartment here is inaccessible from the street as there is a master door to every building and without knowing who lives next to me I’m screwed.

Well, Jorge texted the owner and asked her how to retrieve said sock as surely, I’m not the only one to drop stuff as there are apartments across and above me too.

Well, turns out it was the upscale Italian restaurant below me that had access to the interior patio.

Well, on a whim after fixing a small hole in my apartment wall with toothpaste, which I got on myself and my black workout shorts and t-shirt I decided to walk to the Dialprix grocery store near me for some wine. Carrying my sack of alcohol, feeling a little daring I decided what the hell, go in and ask Chiffon, just do it like Nike says. I also noted no patrons were in the restaurant yet, so I wouldn’t be making a fool of myself in front of anyone eating their calzones. So that helped my nerve.

So I stepped into the restaurant and up walks a tall slender Spaniard with blue eyes wearing a snug black apron. Hmm not a bad sight actually. He probably thought I was homeless looking for something as I had no makeup on, my hair in a stringy bun, and my clothes stained with toothpaste. I should have looked at myself first. Jeese what a slob.  I blubbered out hablas Engles? He nodded “un poco” I then forgot what to say in Spanish that I rehearsed while walking other than the word for sock and red.

I pointed to my foot and said “rojo calcitones in your patio.” I hoped he understood calcitones  as sock, not calzone to go. Although I knew I wasn’t saying it right in Spanish. He smiled and said, “oh one moment”. He turned and disappeared. In two minutes out he came with my red sock. Success!!!!

I thanked him profusely. In fact, doing this alone when I fear trying to speak, I wanted to hug him. But I’m sure he didn’t want toothpaste on his apron so I didn’t attempt. I thought I bet I’m not the only person coming in there trying to retrieve dropped clothes. But at least it was just a sock and not a G-string. If that happened Ide have to be drunk to go in, but then again no worries there, this body ain’t seen a G-string in 40 years.

Today was a big day.

I learned to take a chance speaking no matter how sloppy I’m dressed. And it’s okay to walk into a fancy Italian restaurant with toothpaste on myself and ask to get my sock back. I also learned don’t look for floors that don’t exist, it’s probably bad Feng Shui.

Live for the great moments.

Time for yoga.