Coincidence?

Since I cannot decide whether I ever want a 2nd child, or how soon or late there might ever be one, I have decided to socialize my son as much as I can, by arranging play-dates with his the mommies of the children he likes best from the nursery.

I’m making it a point that at least once a week, he can have someone over, go over someone’s house, or make plans with someone else for us to take them to an amusement park, etc.

One of the Mommies I have been doing with this recently is an American woman married to an Egyptian man. I really like the woman and I am one of the only people she finds she can relate to, so she is especially excited about this idea.

Her house is still incomplete and she says things are pretty much upside down. So every time we make plans, she wants to bring her kids over to our house. I don’t really mind since we have a garden and the kids can play outside.

I have come to a very disturbing conclusion about hanging out with this woman though.
Every time she comes over, after she leaves, my husband and I get into a huge fight and end up on the verge of divorce. This is very strange considering that my husband and I get along great.

Judge for yourself and tell me: Coincidence?

From the minute she comes over, it’s “Wow, you have that? Wow, you’ve traveled there?; Wow, your son has that toy?; Wow, you’re so thin.; Wow, you’re such a good Mom.” You get the picture…until it becomes kind of creepy and weird.

My husband later calls and I’m like, “Hi habibi. How’s your day? Talk to you later. Love you, Bye.” …

Then the kids play, we talk, they go home after a few hours.

After she leaves, I get a phone call from my husband… the conversation always takes some strange turn and *KABOOM*, we get into a huge fight. We hang up abruptly. We talk later, we fight some more. He comes home later, we get into an even bigger fight and suddenly we’re talking divorce.

This has happened a few times.

I’m not superstitious, but el 7asad mazkour fil Quran. So you tell me: 7asad or coincidence?

More On My Threenager

Three going on Thirteen, I swear.

My son would not wear a jacket this morning and it was cold. So, I was trying to explain to him the concept of winter and how we wear a jacket in the winter. I told him, "We're in winter now. We have to wear a jacket because it's cold outside."

The little bugger gave me a face and replied with attitude, "We're not in winter. We're in the house."

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I usually turn into a raging maniac when I'm driving from all the idiots around me. I didn't realize how much I curse when I drive until a truck cut me off today and I started waving my arm at him. Before I said anything, my son asked me, "Howa 7ayawan ya Mommy?"

I really have to start watching my mouth.

Oops! I Did It Again!

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of renewing my license with the ever so cooperative Morour (Traffic Department). I'll spare you the gory details of what that entails.

When I speak Arabic, I mix in English words for the words which I do not know or am not sure of in Arabic, as do a lot of people. My spoken Arabic is almost perfect, (at least in MY opinion) even though a lot of my friends STILL make fun of me. The problem comes when I have to speak Arabic with no English substitution and maybe fill out a form in Arabic, as I did fil morour.

My reading skills are that of a retarded 9 year old and my even worse writing skills are those of a 3 year old. My handwriting always looks like I'm left-handed trying to write with my right hand.

One of the steps of the entire procedure for renewing a car license is to pay any traffic or speeding tickets that you owe. My husband had gone a few days earlier and paid my traffic tickets in advance to save time. When I first arrived, I didn't know where to go from there. There was so much chaos around with people moping around doing absolutely nothing, to people running around looking lost, to people screaming at the top of their lungs at each other.

So I found a police officer and asked him, "law sama7t ana daf3at el tazaker khalas, 3emel eh delwakty? (Excuse me, I've already paid off my tickets; what do I do now?)"

He said, "Tazaker? Tazaker eh?" Neither of us were getting anywhere after that. So he explained the entire procedure to me from a-z mentioning, "...we b3adein betroo7y tedf3ay el mokhalfat...". Oops. Mokhalfat. That was the word I was looking for.

After a couple of hours of being sent from the an office outside the traffic department, to the office on the 2nd floor, to the office on the ground floor, to the office on the first floor, etc, etc. all because the envious government eployees want to enslave your lazy rich ass a little, I was already dizzy with all the sending me back and forth. Trying to keep my poise, I walked up to the cashier window to pay. I said in my most sophisticated voice, trying to sound very Arabically confident amidst the Egyptian governmental employees, "3ayza adf3a el dareebat men fadlak." The guy cracked a smile and said, "Dareebat? aahh..."

Oops again... I realized when he repeated it that it must've sounded funny so I quickly coughed as if I had choked, "ahem... darayeb. 3yza adf3a darayeb." That's what happens when I get tired, my Arabic becomes drunk. Oh well.

I did save myself one embarassing moment though. I was asked to fill out this huge form in Arabic. I couldn't even understand half the things requested, so I told the woman, "Bas ana mesh m3aya nadara. (But I don't have my glasses with me)". A little secret: I don't wear glasses :P. She said, "Tab khalas, ekteby bas esmek. (OK, just write your name)" Phew!

Corruption pays sometimes! :)

Mr. Bean Meets Animal Rescue

About every couple of months, I have my very own episode of Animal Rescue, except usually, it’s more like Mr. Bean Meets Animal Rescue because of the way things always take some goofy, unplanned twist.

Since nobody in Egypt gives a rat’s ass about animals in general, I have taken it upon myself to rescue and nurture animals (specifically cats) who have been injured, or need help.

I was once on the way to a meeting with my boss, on the way, while I was driving on the highway, I noticed a kitten crossing the street frantically. As she crossed, the car in front of me ran hit her. She flung in the air, landed and hopped back and forth hysterically, obviously in pain and not knowing where to go. Eventually, she managed to run across the road.

Without thinking, I pulled over at the side of the road in a lane where there was a tractor blocking it from traffic, got out of the car and went searching for her. There I was in a business suit and heels, heel-deep in dirt towards where she ran, walking around going, “psss psss psss”.

The construction workers nearby, of course, got a kick out of this. The only thing I could think of was to see whether she was alive, how bad she was hit and then to see if I could take her to the vet. I finally found her. She appeared completely fine from the outside, there was no blood visible. I was afraid that she may have broken bones or internal bleeding, so I decided to grab her, put her in the car and take her to the vet.

I slowly approached her, tried to pet her, of course in her frantic state, she would not allow it. I finally grabbed her from her sides and holy shit, did she resist! She was twisting and turning like a worm on acid! I finally got a good grip on her and ran to the car, opened the door and threw her in the back seat.

Now there was only one small problem. The meeting. Woops. I figured a life or death matter is more important than a measly business meeting. I called my boss, told him I have something urgent that came up and that I would explain later and to delay the meeting one hour.

My vet doesn’t have morning clinic hours, so I decided to take her home, leave her in the spare bathroom so she doesn’t fight with my cat, leave her food, water, etc and take her to the clinic in the afternoon.

I got home, went and got my cat’s kennel, opened the car door, now if I could only get a hold of the cat. She went ballistic inside my car! She swung and she swiped. She scratched me about a dozen times, until she finally bit down through my nail so hard that she pierced it. I finally got her in the kennel, took her home and left her in the kennel with food and water so I would be able to get her to the vet later. I washed and disinfected my hands. My finger started swelling so much that it started to look like I got bit by a vampire!

I called my vet who has saved my number from the amount of times she is used to getting calls over the period I’ve known her over injured cats or injured me from injured cats. I took an appointment for the evening.

When we go to the vet, we opened the kennel so the doctor could check her out and she kept flinging across the room like a bat out of hell! It took four people and two shots of anesthesia to pin her down. It turns out, the poor thing survived without internal injury but had a completely shattered hind leg. It was shattered at the joints which supposedly could not heal and she would walk around dragging it permanently.

Not only this, but from the way her extremely aggressive behavior was, the vet said she could not rule out rabies. She said I should not keep this cat until she has healed and that I should go get rabies shots immediately. I was flabbergasted.

Since she had 2 shots of anesthesia, there was no way I was going to let her go out on the street and fend for herself drugged and with a shattered leg. I decided to keep her in the spare bathroom for a couple of days isolated until she gets a bit better.

I then headed to the hospital. I went to the ER to have someone have a quick look at my hand and to ask for a rabies test, if there was one. They prescribed the name of the seven-course rabies shots I should take and off I went to the pharmacy. I spent the whole drive thinking, ‘Shit, this is what I get for trying to save a fucking cat’s life. Risking my own fucking life. Great, fucking great.’

I walked in and to my luck, the pharmacy was packed with people. The pharmacist asked me what I need and I handed him the prescription in silence to spare myself the humiliation of saying out loud, “ I need rabies shots.”

He asked me in a very loud voice over the chatter in the pharmacy, “Enti 3yza tat3eem rabies? (Do you want rabies shots?)” The room went silent. Everyone looked at me and took one step away from me as if I was a fucking drooling rabid dog! I nodded in silence.

He asked again, “Leh? Howa kalb 3dek wala eh? (Did a dog bite you or what?)” Everyone was waiting for my reply. Not wanting to prolong this moment any longer with any details, I said , “Ah. (Yes).”

He told me to go in the back where another pharmacist would give me the first shot and instruct me on when and how to take the other six. While I was going to the back, I heard him say to the pharmacist giving me the shot, “Khaly balak la te3odak. (Be careful, she might bite you.)” I just wanted to get out of this mortifying situation, and I was so consumed with the possibility that I might actually have rabies which I had read is a sure killer, so I let it go. Looking back, I should've turned around and barked at him.

That story is now history and I can assure you, I am neither drooling, nor do I bite, but today, I have been pissed on twice, my finger is swollen and maybe bit down to the bone this time, from today’s episode of Mr. Bean Meets Animal Rescue. Today’s cat, however, is safe and sound.