All the organs of a body are important and have to accomplish the mission inherent to their roles so that the body to which they belong could live a quality life. However, if the pancreas does not work properly, you are going to get really sick, but I doubt that as result of this something absurd or funny, something worth telling, might happen to you.
But two short-sighted eyes along with an absent-minded, Asperger-like character result in a string of unforgettable anecdotes.
The Divine Maker, for reasons that my mortal and limited brain has never managed to elucidate, equipped me with a pair of eyes of dubious usefulness. I don’t know why a loving Creator would give malfunctioning organs to some of His creatures (maybe he is playing a joke? Did he buy them at a Chinese website?) Anyway, my eyes, since I was a girl, have never accomplished the mission inherent to them: to see well the entities of the material world. Lucky me: my eyes are beautiful, so they have embellished my face all this time; otherwise I would have thought that God held a certain animosity towards me.
Tired of being unfairly branded as stupidly arrogant, I decided, some years ago, to greet with torrential enthusiasm every figure that should appear in my blurred horizon, susceptible to be one of my acquaintances.
One day I mistook the butcher across the street for my father. Under a giant magnifying glass their only resemblance would have been the white, cotton-like hair, but eyes that are out of order misguide the brain very much, even though the brain is smart and used to figuring out misteries of superior spheres. With such crappy torches it is logical for the brain to make mistakes!
I ran after him, shouting my head off, dad, dad!, and smacked one resounding kiss on each of his cheeks. My eyesight has always been lousy but my smell is excellent, I am the hound of the Baskervilles. The moment I got closer to the man I thought was my father, the reek of tobacco and black coffee with added liquor helped me realize that I had made a mistake.
Another day I saw my aunt Mari Carmen at a distance, a very short woman, dressed all in black because she was still in mourning for her departed husband. So, I ran to her and grabbed her by the waist with youthful energy to surprise her. I ran so fast, so intent, that my momentum as I leaped upon the priest in charge of tne Parish of St. Basil almost knocked him off his feet. He had just finished administering Holy Communion to to a bunch of devout recipients,dressed in his full length black cassock.
I have experienced his type of misunderstandings during all my life. That’s the reason behind the title of this post: “the year of the vaginas” (“el año de las vaginas”, in Spanish –you have to read it in Spanish to understand, later on, the dirty trick my eyes played on me).
Year is año and vaginas…well, everybody can understand this word because it is the same in both languages. It is the title of a brochure I picked up at one of Leroy Merlin DIY stores, while buying some diy implements with my husband. THE YEAR OF THE VAGINAS! What the hell is that? Absolutely astonished by this catchy title, I felt an extreme curiosity to know what the brochure was talking about. However, I didn’t have either my reading glasses or my mini-magnifying glass in my bag. I was helpless, lost in that nebulous vagueness of a well-established visually impaired damsel. My head was spinning around. Could it be possible that there be some kind of tool called “vagina” that I know absolutely nothing about, named after the female genital organ?
I squeezed the brochure in my hands, as if I wanted to extract the juice of what was written on the front cover. But the magic didn’t last l ong! When my husband came to where I was standing, my heart pounding wildly with my recent discovery, he righted wrongs in one second. I got really angry. I love homonyms, the words that share the same spelling and the same pronunciation but have different meanings. These words are linguistically like a little black dress in your wardrobe: they are multifaceted and serve different purposes. I had already got used to the idea of “vagina” being a kind of thingy very popular in the do-it-yourself world. 
It could even be a type of chisel, like the famous one Clodomiro had to buy in this song by Mejía Godoy (do read another post of mine in which I tell you this story!). A specialized chisel called “vagina” or maybe some kind of screw, axe, awl or even a wrench! But my husband proved me wrong: one more time my eyes had misled me. I can’t trust them. However…the delusive reality they show me is always more amusing!
N.B. I read año (=year) instead of baño (=bathroom). I didn’t see the «b», and I read vaginas instead of the verb imaginas (=you imagine). The title actually said: The bathroom that you imagine (El baño que imaginas)