This weekend I had a single moment of clarity: life in Bulgaria is like swimsuit shopping. It happened on a slightly crowded metro on Friday night heading into the city.  I felt totally inspired by the idea. So I started making a list in my head in order to highlight the similarities. Here it goes.

Bulgaria is like that moment in the shop where you realize: this isn't so bad, there are so many suits to choose from. I'll find something like I like and you pull 5 or 6 swimsuits off the rack. <em>(It's like the moment you realize how many different salads can be made with some combination of tomatoes, cucumbers and serine cheese or yogurt.)</em>

But Bulgaria is also like that moment then in the dressing room, you catch yourself thinking: this looked so much better on the hanger, this really isn't my color, my style or my size. <em>(Or the morning you think, this bus didn't seem so crowded, dirty, smelly or hot from the bus stop as it is once you're in it.)<!--more--></em>Unfortunately, life in Bulgaria is also like the next crazy-girl-trying-on-swimsuits-in-a-body-obsessed-world moment when you're trying on suits in which the last concern morphs into a new series of concerns, where you wonder: Why are the lights so bright? Why is the dressing room so small? Followed by, could there be something wrong with the mirror? <em>(Which is pretty similar to the moment where you catch yourself worrying about a series of concerns that in the States you'd never thought of entertaining: Will a breeze from the window and whether or not you'll be sick soon? Should I be drinking cold water or room temperature water--in Bulgarian the question Топло или студено which basically is hot or cold--why would room temperature bottled water be hot?!? Followed by one ice cube or two in my rakiya? And the classic concern: will the clash of natural light and overhead light hurt my eyes?)</em>

Life in Bulgaria is also like that moment when your confronted with the question: That's not <em>me</em>, is it?!  Usually about this point, you also cannot help but lament: is that <em>really</em> how my (fill in the blank-body part) looks? <em>(Maybe I can crimp my hair to solve the problem.)</em>

It's just you and the swimsuit (and the five others hanging on the wall behind you that you're still considering).  In that moment, the rest of the world is very small as you consider the relative merits of the swimsuit and try to imagine wearing it at the pool and at the beach.  You're trying to decide if it's flattering, if it's a good fit.  Can you see yourself in it? <em>(Yep, then there's the moment where you come face to face with Bulgaria. Where everything else is behind you and you're staring at yourself in Bulgaria and the rest of the world is very small.  You think: Wow.  This will do. This is pretty great.)</em>

And finally lie in Bulgaria is like that moment on your way out of the dressing room, soon to be new swimsuit in hand, and the promise you make to yourself. The promise to eat a little more healthy and to drink a little less wine. <em>(It's the same promise you make when meeting friends for dinner: eat the shopksa salad and turn down the french fries with serine cheese and don't let your friends peer-pressure you into "just one more glass of wine.")</em>

So, that's that. Life in Bulgaria is not unlike swimsuit shopping.

As for those of you who are disappointed with my extended metaphor, I am sincerely sorry. I mean I did warn you. I came up with the idea on a Friday evening after a long week of work on a semi-crowded but fully smelly metro car.  Then to top things off, my internet was down all weekend so the idea had way too much time to steep and grow. It may, just may, have gotten away from me.