A few years back, there was this really sweet rap song about Minnesota. It was called “Say Shh,” and it was by Atmosphere, an inspiration to white people and Minnesotans everywhere. In “Say Shh,” the rapper Slug rhymed that Minnesota was dope –  “if only simply for not what we have, but what we don’t.” It takes a certain kind of thug wisdom to have that kind of insight, you know? He’s right. Sometimes life just needs certain subtractions.

Here’s a quick and dirty inventory of familiar things that don’t seem to exist in Spain. Some of these items are more missed than others.

Cold milk. Whenever I go out to the grocery, it’s alarming to me that I find liter bottles of milk on the shelves rather than in the fridge. After a quick consultation with the information superhighway, I found that they’re placed there because ultrapasteurization, the pasteurization method used in both Spain and France, creates — wait for it — milk that doesn’t need to be refrigerated. Seriously. European milk defies refrigeration. It transcends it. This has challenged my American understanding of the universe in ways I can’t even explain.

Spitting game. Hitting on women, I guess, is an American art. In Spanish nightclubs, a man who finds a woman attractive will simply come over and say to her, “Hello, you’re very pretty. Is that guy your boyfriend? …OK, good. Come dance.” The cranky feminist in me would love to get on a pedestal and talk about how this is personally degrading, but the truth of the matter is, I’m kind of into it. Speaking as someone who’s never really mastered the art of feminine wiles, I like having things spelled out for me. (Please raise your hand if that last sentence made you uncomfortable. If your hand is raised, sorry about that awkward dinner date that’s probably in our past.)

Facewash. Conditioner, too, for that matter. Spanish people apparently just look this good all the time without skincare or haircare help. Magical, or infuriating? I’d go with both.

Corners. Spain, it seems, is post-corners in two senses. First, the traditional street corner seems very uncommon, at least in the area where I live. Where there would be a street corner in Chicago, in Barcelona there’s a flat, obtuse edge, like when you use a pair of scissors to cut the corners off a page. Each intersection is an octagon. And second, the cityscape is punctuated by the influence of Gaudí, who liked using only shapes found in nature. Most of his architecture looks like it’s melting — thus, no corners.

One-piece bathing suits. The only “one-piece” bathing suit you’ll find in Barcelona consists of a bikini minus the top part. The classic Marilyn Monroe look just doesn’t fly on the beach here; belly buttons, it seems, are an essential part of the Mediterranean experience.

Down escalators. You can escape climbing up the stairs, but nobody gets an excuse for not walking down them. Fat, lazy, beloved home country, take note.