Camping?

H really wants to take me camping, he thinks it would be fun.  Periodically when we revisit the topic, I remind him that we’ve already been camping.  What else do you call using an open air toilet?  H’s response is that when the open air toilet has plumbing (it did) and was in our private open air bathroom (yes, that may have been the case), it’s not called camping, it’s called staying at a luxury hotel.  Perhaps, but I do really like that form of camping.

Anyway I think it’s now a moot point because after waiting 48 hours for the leasing agent to send cleaners to our dirty rental (still hasn’t happened), I caved and took a really quick shower standing on my toes*.  Unfortunately I was unable to remove our single towel from the dryer (apparently it can’t be stopped mid-cycle), which meant that I dried myself using a paper towel.   I no longer have the paper towel plastic wrap or I would give a brand shout out for its absorbency but I do suggest that dirty shower + paper towel = camping.  Thoughts?

*No, flip flops are not considered essential luggage for an allocated 20 kilograms a person when moving to a cold, rainy location.  Biggest mistake ever.

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:

Leaving on a [Many] Jet Plane[s]

H and I are saying hooroo to Australia and moving on to our next home overseas.  This means that I'll have to catch-up on my severe backlog of Australia postings from someplace other than Australia.  It also means that I get to play excited bathroom game in the Dubai Airport.  Excited bathroom game involves guessing what's behind each stall door: toilet or squat hole.

Full points are given for a correct blind guess and 75% of points are awarded for a correct guess based on observing who is exiting the stalls.  Half points are awarded based on observing who is entering the stalls as a lot of times Westerners will reveal the squat locations by gasping and shaking their heads when they push open the stall door, resuming their place in the queue to wait for the next available stall, or simply saying, "this is gross."

Another fun area of play for excited bathroom game is seeing just how many women will emerge from a single squat stall at one time.  I'm not quite sure what they all do in their together.  Maybe assist with holding up one another's voluminous burkas?

Thank goodness we have an eleven hour layover.  I couldn't bear to have a limited timeframe to play in.

So toodaloo kangaroos, I'll check-in once I arrive on the other side of the globe...literally.