I should have known that India wouldn't let me go without a fight. Like, "Hold on there a minute, Missy. Just where do you think yer going?"
This story starts on Wednesday.
I left a note for our maid asking her to please take anything she wanted from the refrigerator, and throw away the rest. Everything, that is, except the top shelf. The top shelf held the spices and teas that we brought back from our visit to Istanbul's spice bazaar. Vacuum sealed spices and teas, that becomes important later.
So, when we get home, the refrigerator is full, and everything on the top shelf is gone.
Of course! What did I expect.
So I call Subbu, the maid, "Subbu, please bring back the spices. Those you were supposed to be leaving, the rest taking (this is how Indians talk)."
Subbu says, "Madam, I threw them away."
"Threw them away?! NOOOOOOO! Where?!"
"Near the chicken center, madam." She really did say that, I'm not just trying to embellish this story to emphasize the full-circleness of this particular Indian experience.
Then, I bolt out the door. Straight to the dumpster, which is covered in flies, surrounded by the new batch of street-puppies, and dripping a Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtle-like ooze, a greenish colored, bubbling and steaming ooze.
Now, I'm going to tell you the rest of this story, but you can't read any further unless you promise not to hold this against us. I mean, if we invite you over to dinner, you can't use this story as an excuse not to come. OK? Deal. Because these are nice spices and teas, that's why I went through the effort. You'll see, you're gonna love their taste.
Our garbage bags are right on top. The first is full of our normal garbage, the second has our (remember: vacuum sealed!) spices and teas. The puppies are licking me and trying to crawl up my leg, the ooze is seeping over my sandal, I reach in, grab the bag, and run it to the sink.
You will have peace of mind knowing that not a single drop of water got in those bags. They were sealed up tight. They're OK. BUT, I'm not. I think something might have seeped up from the ooze, into my foot, then my guts from there. Because since that day I've been plagued with violent and endless diarrhea. Which is fitting, really. This blog should basically be renamed, The Diarrhea Blog, since I've had almost nothing but for the last four years.
So, yes, a little memory of India will live on in my colon, for who knows how long. At least, I'm sure it will last the 36 hours of travel it takes to get home. From there, maybe Iowa will cure me.
At any rate, India can't hold on forever. In just 8 short hours we head to the airport, and no amount of diarrhea could keep me off that plane.
This story starts on Wednesday.
I left a note for our maid asking her to please take anything she wanted from the refrigerator, and throw away the rest. Everything, that is, except the top shelf. The top shelf held the spices and teas that we brought back from our visit to Istanbul's spice bazaar. Vacuum sealed spices and teas, that becomes important later.
So, when we get home, the refrigerator is full, and everything on the top shelf is gone.
Of course! What did I expect.
So I call Subbu, the maid, "Subbu, please bring back the spices. Those you were supposed to be leaving, the rest taking (this is how Indians talk)."
Subbu says, "Madam, I threw them away."
"Threw them away?! NOOOOOOO! Where?!"
"Near the chicken center, madam." She really did say that, I'm not just trying to embellish this story to emphasize the full-circleness of this particular Indian experience.
Then, I bolt out the door. Straight to the dumpster, which is covered in flies, surrounded by the new batch of street-puppies, and dripping a Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtle-like ooze, a greenish colored, bubbling and steaming ooze.
Now, I'm going to tell you the rest of this story, but you can't read any further unless you promise not to hold this against us. I mean, if we invite you over to dinner, you can't use this story as an excuse not to come. OK? Deal. Because these are nice spices and teas, that's why I went through the effort. You'll see, you're gonna love their taste.
Our garbage bags are right on top. The first is full of our normal garbage, the second has our (remember: vacuum sealed!) spices and teas. The puppies are licking me and trying to crawl up my leg, the ooze is seeping over my sandal, I reach in, grab the bag, and run it to the sink.
You will have peace of mind knowing that not a single drop of water got in those bags. They were sealed up tight. They're OK. BUT, I'm not. I think something might have seeped up from the ooze, into my foot, then my guts from there. Because since that day I've been plagued with violent and endless diarrhea. Which is fitting, really. This blog should basically be renamed, The Diarrhea Blog, since I've had almost nothing but for the last four years.
So, yes, a little memory of India will live on in my colon, for who knows how long. At least, I'm sure it will last the 36 hours of travel it takes to get home. From there, maybe Iowa will cure me.
At any rate, India can't hold on forever. In just 8 short hours we head to the airport, and no amount of diarrhea could keep me off that plane.
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