I’m so glad that my illness wore off in time to go to the Museum of Communism because this was one of the main things I was interested in seeing in Bucharest. This will mostly just be pictures.

Also, sex is life.

Blessedly, there were not many people there when we arrived, which was kind of crazy since it was a Saturday. The museum itself is upstairs from a cafe, and it’s pretty small – one hallway and three rooms. So I imagine it can be pretty claustrophobic on a crowded day.

The museum is very interactive – you’re encouraged to flip through pamphlets, turn on TVs, TRY ON CLOTHES (my favorite part!) so it was really nice to get to do these hands-on things without feeling like we were being pushed along.

Everything was fine until this young British couple (“young” to me since I am officially old now, but probably in their early 30s?) arrived and blew past us, skipping over the entire beginning section and then forcing us to have to change directions so we wouldn’t be behind them. The girl was fine but the guy was like a super snotty Robert Pattinson and I mean that both figuratively and literally – he was arrogant and also putting his post-nasal drip on full display to the point where it sounded like it was being aired over a loud speaker. The snorting and grossly intense sniffling and swallowing and wet coughing – OH MY LORD, GO AWAY.

The two sections of the museum featured many interesting artifacts from Communist Romania, such as military things, currency, and print advertisements.

Imagine how triggered MAGA would be if they went anywhere in a foreign country and saw that the British flag denotes English and not the ‘MURICA flag. Cry about it, fascists.

Henry really loved twiddling and diddling the dials.

These glasses were ALMOST as big as I need them to be!

The next room was set up to resemble a typical house back in Communist Romania and it was neat (I can’t believe I said “neat,” GOSH*) and made it extra fun to try on Romanian women ensembles.

*(I have noticed an uptick in grown ass adults eschewing “oh my god” for GOSH lately and I am not scared to say that it gets on my motherfucking nerves. Are you OPIE? Is this MAYBERRY?? Are you LEAVING IT TO BEAVER? I literally can’t stand it. I’m sorry, but taking the Lord’s name in vain is one of the few liberties we still have left, it feels like, so PLEASE DON’T TAKE THAT AWAY TOO. Especially at work! Why are you sending me Teams responses to my enflamed tirades that say GOSH?? I’m over here on the verge of self-immolation from all the stress and unhinged ire I feel on the daily and you’re going to hit me with a GOSH? GTFO.)

Anyway, I was happy in this moment.

I couldn’t get Henry to try anything on, but I went HAD 3 WARDROBE CHANGES. I couldn’t get enough. No one else was in this room yet so I was living my best Communist housewife life.

TENNIS.

I love this graphic design so much.

Henry was said he couldn’t diddle this one. :( Also, the museum staff at that time consisted of two college-aged guys who seemed like they couldn’t have cared less if someone touched this, although the music did turn up at one point (I think Henry jiggled something, I don’t know) and they came CRUISING over from the hallway to readjust the volume.

CONFIRMED: Henry said that yes, it was him that did this accidentally. “I wouldn’t say HE CAME RUNNING though. He was already on his way in.” Mmm. That’s exactly what someone would say when they want the readers to think it was less of a deal than it really was.

:/

As I’m writing this, ICE agents are reportedly following WHITE PEOPLE into grocery stores to see if they’re buying food for their neighbors of color and then attempting to follow them home, just saying. People never thought this shit would happen here, but sadly, we have lots of dumb ass motherfuckers who voted for it.

I did NOT want to part with these glasses.

Ending on an inspirational note.

So many important and uncomfortably close-to-home lessons to learn here.

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