You know when you're cooking something in the oven, like a batch of cookies, and you open up the oven to check to see if it is done and a blast of heat attacks you and glues your eyelashes to you face (because, of course you are wearing mascara)? Well...that's what it feels like to live in Egypt today. It is hot, hot, hot and I am cooked.
Being mother's day, I decided I wanted to treat myself to coffee with an old friend I haven't seen in three months named STARBUCKS (remind me not to have expectations when doing things like this in the future). I donned my culturally-appropriate, long-sleeves, peeled the little ones off my legs, and *BAM* (that's the sound of my eyelids gluing shut), I was off to Starbucks.
Starbucks is not close enough to walk to comfortably, but it is a bit too close to take a taxi. Since I didn't have the kids with me, I decided to walk. However, as I walked I began to melt. First, my hair curled up and blew away. Then my eyes, nose and mouth slipped off my face. I had to walk faster if I didn't want to be mistaken as the puddle that used to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Finally, I arrived! The sign in the window said, "Treat yourself." Being the best piece of advice I had gotten since moving to Egypt thus far, I did. Not having cash on hand, I handed the man my credit card and stared off into a melodious jazz playing bliss, also known as the "mommy zone"...only to be brought back into this reality:
"Excuse me, but your card isn't working."
"Are you sure? Could you try again?"
"Sorry, Ma'am. It still doesn't work. Do you have another one?"
"Yes." I hand the cashier another card. I hope the bank hasn't blocked my card again because someone in 'Egypt' had made a purchase. This happens from time to time.
"No, Ma'am. That one does not work either."
"Could it be your machine?" I ask.
"No, Ma'am. Our machine works!"
I walk outside to find the nearest ATM (*BAM*), pull out enough cash to cover my purchase (*BAM*) and then return to the store to inform the man that my card does work. Here was the cash to prove it, and there must be something wrong with his machine.
"Yes," he replies self-satisfactorily, "I knew it wasn't your card all along because the paper kept saying, 'Try again.' instead of 'Declined'." I then have one of those moments when I stand there and try to think the best about the person in front of me, but find it difficult.
Anyway, I enjoy my Dolce De Leche Frap and then (*BAM*) leave to go grocery shopping. I get my groceries and go to check out and..."Ma'am, your card is not working". AGAIN!
"My card works. I am pretty sure it's the bank's phone line that isn't working. I am sorry, but I don't have the cash on me to cover the cost."
"That's OK," says Nice-Man-With-Long-Full-Beard. "We will deliver your groceries to your home and you can pay us then. Do you have cash at home?".
"Yes, thank you." I turn to leave (*BAM*), stop to buy a kilo of bananas and see Nice-Man-With-Long-Full-Beard and my groceries wiz by on a scooter. I arrive by foot 5 mins later. My tall glass of ice water answers the door and pays the man. I think, "There's no place like home!"
Here is what I am thankful for today: someone who would deliver my groceries for me, my helpful husband and oh so precious children, small pleasures in life like coffee, my credit card wasn't declined, food for my family, feet to walk with, clothes to wear, and people who make life interesting.
Cookies Anyone?
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