I’d been having a day full of traffic stress and other such inconveniences that low blood sugar transforms into Godzilla-level disasters, leading me to a mild panic attack. I had to get out of my truck, and so I (safely) abandoned it and hauled ass to the closest place to get a sandwich and a smoothie. 

A few bites and sips later, manager of the cafe dropped by my table to instruct me on the proper use of a glass catsup bottle. Just before he left me to my fries, he shyly inquired, “If you don’t mind, I was hoping you could help us with something we need to know.” 

“Sure,” I say. After all, he did outwit the catsup for me. Besides, I was curious. 

“Do you say ‘d-OHN-key,’ or ‘d-AHN-key’?” 

“Um,” I reply. I now had a few questions of my own, but they were better left unasked.  

But the story didn’t end there. Because after lunch, I took a walk and stopped in a Starbuck’s for a coffee and a half-hour with my new sketchbook. The barista consulted me on something she could not comprehend at all, which was the American obsession with pumpkin-flavoring every autumn. 

And so, all it took to wipe away all the stress and tension of the previous ninety minutes was a brief discussion of the regional accents and seasonal flora of my home country. Seriously, I forgot why I had this headache. 

I overheard the following exchange this morning between Kate and Henry the kitten: 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m not letting you in!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m allowed to go to the bathroom alone!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“Go away!” 

“MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

I then heard the sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Happy now?” 

“Mew!” 

Chapter 1: I settled down to a nice lunch of leftover Nando’s chicken. Unbeknownst to me, Newcastle somehow stole and hid a skin-covered bone—which, in retrospect, explains why he stopped bothering me about it all of a sudden. 

Chapter 2: While I went to the gym, Kate settled down to a nice dinner of the rest of the leftover Nando’s. Assuming this meant it was chicken-time for everyone, Newcastle retrieved the skin-covered bone from its hiding place and happily trotted around the living room with it. 

Chapter 3: Kate chased down and caught Newcastle, removing his prize from his mouth. I’m assuming the soundtrack to this was “Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph. 

Chapter 4: I returned from the gym to Kate on the couch with a look on her face that said, very clearly, “You need to control your pet.” I shuffled to the bedroom to Newcastle on the floor with a look on his face that said, very clearly, “You need to control your pet.” 

Gather around, kids! Today, I’d like to tell you a story about how much more entertaining it is to shop in this part of the world than it is back home in the States. And so, let’s all go down to the auto parts store, where our hero enters, on a quest for a tow cable and an air compressor. 

I am greeted at once by an older man in a brown suit, clutching a cigarette I never actually see him put to his lips, speaking English with a thick regional accent. After we sync up our vocabulary to determine what I’m looking for, he shows me several cables and we pick the best one. He glances at the sticker and tells me, “Says one-thirty. Give it to you for one hundred. Special price.” I agree that this is indeed a special price. 

We now look at air compressors. He and his assistant, who speaks no English, remove an air compressor from the shelf, unpack it, and show me how to assemble it. “Is Chinese, so it maybe get too hot…” He shows me where it might overheat. “… So turn it off and on. No problem. You know Chinese things. Good quality, though.” He directs his assistant to remove a car battery from behind the counter, hook up the compressor, and turn it on. 

“Looks good,” I say. 

The old man shrugs. “Good quality, even if it is Chinese. You know Arabs. They see it’s Chinese, they don’t want.” He shrugs again and flicks an ash off of his cigarette. “Box say four-fifty, but for you, four hundred. Special price.” Once again, I have to admit this is a special price. 

While his assistant boxes up the compressor, the old man and I work out whether cash or credit is best. We go with cash. He punches a number into a calculator and he sends his assistant out to my car with my purchases before I can stop him. I pay up and hurry out. 

And it’s not until I get home that I realize I’d paid five hundred eighty for both items, which is not really that special of a price. I’m not 100 percent sure what exactly happened there.