Scribbles and Scrambles - Culture Shock

Since poor Pat got picked on twice last week, so I’ll point out something I did so you can all laugh at me. Pat’s on tomorrow, then.

Several days ago I visited an ethnic grocery store. My friend asked me to come with while she searched for a tasty treat that she had a recipe for and knew she couldn’t make to taste like the real deal. She’d heard that the store carried them. I tried not to be touristy, but I got a little caught up with the different packaging. I have not a clue what one does with guava paste, or why someone would name cupcakes “bimbos.” But I enjoyed poking around and oohing and ahhing over the unfamiliar just 20 miles from home. We looked high and low for the roundish little nuggets and couldn’t find them anywhere. I suggested we scan each row for a big bag or container that looked promising.

Two rows over, I suddenly spied a clear bag with little roundish brown nuggets. “Hey! Look! Is that them?” (grammatically incorrect I’m sure, but I was excited!)

She squinted at the shelf, turned and stared at me.

I raised my hands in cluelessness. “What?”

“You mean the bag of peanuts?”

Ha. We never found them, but she’s going to let me help her make them. That should be interesting.

I’m not done with culture humor. Saturday, after teaching drama with my buddy (another story – actually many stories) my oldest daughter and had an errand to run at the mall (this is what women call shopping when they don’t want to use the s-word). The multi-storied department store had this sign posted at the escalator “For your convenience, we have an elevator located in China.” Needless to say, we took the escalator.

Finally, I called Nannyland on Friday. Some days are just a bit crazy there. And I called right in the middle of lunch prep. Tree-Frog, now 15 months, walks, talks (with a translator) and still feels the need of constant attention. Nanny attempted to make lunch with Frog -Boy glued to her thighs. She picked him up and redeposited him further away attempting to distract him with a toy. He did a little break dance but stayed put. Nanny set the plates on the table right as the dog decided to throw-up in the middle of the floor. Frog-Boy took that opportunity to cross the room.

A large sigh followed. “I’ve got to let you go. He’s doing an Irish jig in the dog vomit.”

Enjoy your Monday, embrace the rich melting pot around you, but don’t…I repeat…do not do an Irish jig in dog vomit.