THE INNER WORKINGS...

You see, the sidewalks in a lot of Argentine cities are not made of your run-of-the-mill concrete. No, sir. They're usually laid with baldosas, or tiles, of various shapes and sizes and colors and materials. When the tiles are all in line, and no rambunctious tree roots have disturbed their monotony, they make for a good-looking sidewalk. But, all too often, the tiles are loose (flojas), cracked, or simply missing. Or worse yet, they're precariously perched above a small, hidden puddle, just waiting for you to step on them to splatter you with a combination of festering mud and slow-growing algae. When I first moved to La Plata, we liked to call them "mystery tiles". And they're the bane of every rainy day in the city.

Usually I take the baldosas flojas in stride (pardon the pun). Sometimes I picture that game Minesweeper (you know, the only computer game that ever came pre-installed in the 1990s), glancing at the tiles before me wondering which one will be explosive. Sometimes I guess correctly. Sometimes I don't. But upon arriving at my destination (after crossing the city on foot), the Platenses (the people from La Plata) demand no explanation of the stripes of caking mud on my jeans. It's just a fact of life.

Brace yourself for the cheesy part.

I don't tend to squeeze life lessons out of poorly paved streets. But the other day, after being attacked by yet another mystery tile, it dawned on me: this is a lot like my life. I have something out-of-keel, something that's not quite right in my life... but as long as the sun shines, no one is none-the-wiser. But, just let it rain for a while... get tired, run into problems, not feel so good, and... splat. The smelly concoction that was so carefully hidden by the loose tile is catapulted into public knowledge. The rain reveals what was hidden underneath the baldosa floja the whole time.

Guess it's time to start cleaning up the sidewalk.