Thai Me Up

I'm moving to Thailand in two months. . . and I keep asking myself why. What would possess me to move from a happy and wealthy home in California, where the biggest challenge is convincing my parents that freelance writing is a real job, to a country known mainly for malaria, underage prostitutes, and a flourishing drug trade? What the hell, as long as there are no squat toilets. I have a lifelong fear of some large toothy animal, a crocodile perhaps, leaping out of the squat-toilet hole and biting off my bum. And for the rest of my life, whenever I want to get naked with someone, I'll have to tell them the reason I have no bum is that I was squatting over a squat-toilet hole and something large and toothy bit it off.