I Don't Think I Woke Up Back in the Middle East, Did I?

While there may be some positive things about the United Kingdom that remind me of my time living in the Middle East (i.e. late night grocery shopping, kebab shops, Nando's), today I had my first wtf, are you sure I've escaped Doha moment?  Last weekend, I ordered an iron online from Debenhams.  I know, very exciting; I think I might actually be getting closer to 30.  Anyway, given that my wallet was across the room and H was sitting next to me with his wallet conveniently located in his pocket, I used his credit card to place the order.  The prescribed order confirmation timeline had passed so this morning I called Debenhams to check on the status of the order.

Upon request, I provided the customer service representative with:

• The confirmation number, "Great, thank you miss."
• Delivery destination, "Yes, thank you." 
• E-mail address, "Great."
• Name the order was placed under, "Excuse me, may I please speak with your husband?"

"Umm, pardon?"  

"I need to speak with your husband as the order is in his name."

"I have all the information and I actually placed the order; the confirmation is going to my e-mail address."

"I'm sorry miss but I can't discuss any details of the order with you."

"You realize that w're talking about an iron, right?"

"I'm sorry but the order is in your husband's name."

Ok, last time I use H's credit card instead getting up off my lazy butt to get my purse.  What did this guy think?  That I had hacked someone else's e-mail account, found an outstanding order for an iron, and called to find out when they were planning on delivering it to the address on the order?

Wow, maybe I'm missing something (like the iron came with a free person to iron everything, or better yet, a butler) but given that I had all of the order details, refusing to update me with the order status seemed a little extreme.  Sorry H, but you're going to have to add calling Debenhams to the bottom of your million item long to-do list.

While you're at it, maybe you can also do the following:

• Pre-emptively give me written permission to drive in the United Kingdom.
• Order me a sweatshirt that says, "Don't worry, my husband allows me to go outside without a headscarf/burqa/niqab."
• Write me a permission slip for buying Winter Pimm's, Baltika and Savanna Dry.  It can read something like, yes, these items are within my wife's 'allowance' and she is over 18.
• Hire a butler.  Whoops, sorry, I don't know how that line item slipped in.

Many thanks!

Guess I Should Have Celebrated Mum's Day

Hold your horses, there is not a Bitty Anonymous Expat on its way.  There's just a very nice Tesco check-out woman who thinks I have kids.  And she might think that because when she asked, I told her I did.  You see, I might have gone a little bit overboard playing supermarket sweep this morning.  I went to the register with such an overflowing cart that everything wouldn't fit back in it once it was bagged; the cashier had to call for a second cart.  So when the cashier asked if I had kids [for school vouchers], I said yes.  I really didn't want her to think that I was that crazy woman who buys a cart and a half of groceries for two people. 

What can I say?  I don't like empty cupboards and there are oh so many delicious foods to sample here.  I promise not to go back to Tesco for at least two weeks.  Maybe.

Splendid! AKA Reason #102 Why I Love the United Kingdom

Disposable gloves at the gas pump.  Need I say more?

New Birthday Wish List

Dear H,

Since moving from Perth, I've added a few alternative options to my birthday wish list.  While I appreciate the caring motivation behind the desire to get me rec specs, I would much prefer something else.  For years, I've wanted a puppy, but now that we live in the United Kingdom, I would also take a hairy coo:

More specifically, I would love a baby hairy coo:

I still have an outstanding desire for a mercenary, but given our current location, I would happily accept a butler.  One that has good connections to get us into castles and distilleries in the winter season and who is an expert at pouring tea would be preferred.  I know just the person if you can persuade him to come work for us.  I would also greatly appreciate it if the butler was able to make the meager heating systems here warm our house.  For some reason British people think that heating a piece of metal in the corner of a room will warm a whole house, trust me it doesn't.

While they may fail on the radiator front, Brits definitely get an A+ for their seemingly widespread use of heated towel racks.  This falls into the future birthday category (don't worry, I'll still be turning 26), but I would really love to have heated towel racks in all future homes. 

Don't worry H, I haven't forgotten about you.  For your birthday I'm getting you the top item on your list, a pair of dictator sunglasses.  Putin has them, Gaddafi had them, now you can have them.  Might I suggest that you consider adding a white Toyota Hilux to your birthday wish list to compliment them?

Love,
Anonymous Expat

Pure Bliss

If I go MIA, don't stress.  You can find me hugging my heated towel rack.  You think I'm joking but I'm not.  It's the greatest invention ever for cold, rainy climates.  And that's exactly where H found me when he got home from work this evening.  It might just be the second love of my life.  Or the third, after Winter Pimm's.  Which I may or may not have been clutching*.  Hey, no judging.  It's absolutely delicious.

A warm mug of, not the whole bottle, thanks.

What Not to Say

New locations mean meeting lots of new people.  Trying to be friendly, I asked one woman how old her infant son was.  Her response was, "Oh him?  He was a mistake."  Ok, thanks for sharing.  Can we say awkward?  What's the appropriate response to that?  So, it looks like you made that mistake approximately a year and a half ago?  Maybe coffee mornings should be replaced with cocktail breakfasts.  Those would be much less painful.

Great Success!!!

For the second time today, I shrieked inadvertently.  Unlike in Perth, the screaming was not a result of the squatting roaches in my apartment.  The first shout was in the wee hours of the morning when my very hot shower turned very cold, in the already ice cold bathroom, in the already frosty new location.  Sorry H, I know your shower was even colder, but I disagree that it was a 'good way to acclimatize to our new home.'

Perhaps the universe knew that after starting my day off like that, I was in need of some extra warmth.  I was starting to believe it didn't exist, but I finally found the very elusive Pimm's Winter No. 3, accidentally in the last of about a dozen stores I went into today.  Cue second round of shrieking:

I might have confused the checkout boy when I refused a bag and stuffed the bottle excitedly into my purse.  Or maybe he was confused that I was shopping laden down with about 30 pounds of groceries.  Little did he know that I had a half hour walk ahead of me...or that it was totally worth it for the bags full of baby carrots, biscuits that are more chocolate than biscuit, buttries, Fanta Zero, black beans, Savanna Dry, Cookie Crisp, Muller yogurt, chocolate covered Hobnobs, onion rolls with holes and Ben and Jerry's frozen yogurt.  Who needs Whole Foods when there is Marks & Spencer and Tesco? 

Now if only H would stop working long enough to share some Pimm's No. 3 with me.  Perhaps I should try a little first just to make sure he'll like it.  Continuous iPhone photos of the ever decreasing bottle might encourage H to leave the office a little earlier so he can have some warm Pimm's + apple juice deliciousness.  It's a win, win situation. 

Only Me

Apparently it's possible to lose one's eyeglasses on an airplane.  I'm not talking about eyeglasses that have been carried on in a purse or carry-on bag; I'm talking about eyeglasses that are actually being worn on one's face.  A few hours into the first leg of our very long flight to our new location, I woke up 100% blind.  In my sleep, I had removed my eyeglasses and put them somewhere...

I quickly shook H awake and told him what happened.  H patted me down, patted himself down and then turned on the overhead light to investigate the whole area around our seats.  No luck.  He handed me my contacts so I could search too.  About 15 minutes later, I finally found my glasses under my seat.  I have no idea how they got there.  They were sandwiched between the feet of the person behind me and the bar of my chair.  H told me he's getting me rec specs for my birthday with a matching eyeglass chain for our next long haul flight.

I like this better for my birthday, I'm just saying: