We encountered two charming middle-aged men dining at the table across from us in a romantic jewel of a restaurant in Bariloche. At first we had the impression that they were quite attractive and intriguing fellows. Then, we noticed their wedding rings, and we realized that they were married, and probably on a boy’s night out. Then, they became increasingly touchy-feely with each other, and we noticed that they were wearing pinky rings, and we decided that they were probably gay. Then, on our way out of the restaurant, they were checking us out brazenly, and we realized that we had been hoodwinked.

The following morning we went down to breakfast in the hotel restaurant and noticed the same two men. They greeted us happily, and we went on with our mornings.

Hours later, we passed the same attractive middle-aged male couple on the street, and we started to feel a fated uncanniness to our repeated meetings. They pulled us aside and asked us if we were leaving for Buenos Aires that afternoon. One of them gave us his business card.

In the airplane en route to the big city, we realized that they were on our same flight, seated just two rows in front of us. Fate may have its way with us after all. We are still mystified by their gay-and-away-on-holiday tendencies. Maybe it is just a Spanish thing. But their pseudo-stalking is suspect.

[The above title is a quote from the poorly translated manual to the washing machine in our Buenos Aires apartment. It's oddly poetic.]

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