You had what?

There are certain medical problems that one likes to keep to oneself. Most of them involve the nether-regions. That business down there you keep to yourself, your medical professional, and perhaps your mom. Don't ask, don't tell. Euphemisms. Anything to avoid telling anyone that you have diarrhea.

In Spain, however, diarrhea seems to not be an issue at all. Many a coworker I have heard come in with a doctor's note for having missed work for diarrhea. When one gathers around the coffee machine during recess, the sick one will come up and all will ask what was wrong, to which they reply, "Nada, es que tenia diarea." They will then scrunch up there face and rub their stomach in a circular motion, the circle of indigestion. All in the area will then also scrunch up their faces and say "Ah, that sucks. My kid had diarrhea last week," or something to that effect.

This conversation will not include me. Ever. I know, everybody gets sick or whatever, but no need to say it in front of collegues, or the lady at the fruit store, or someone on the bus, or to the immediate listening area of my cell phone conversations.

This loose talk about the subject perhaps has to deal with Spaniards being more comfortable with their bodies and they way they work. Very European, it seems. The human body can be gross, I get it. But diarrhea to me is too far. So is having a person taking care of business in your nativity scene.

Caganer, or the shitter in Catalan, a modern twist included
in nativity scenes. Lighten the baby Jesus mood.

Keep your business under wraps. It's too much information, Spain. Too much.