So, about this “dry season”

Ah, Saturday. It’s nice to have one consistent day off during the week, even if the other one floats around.

I pretty much keep the same schedule, only it tends to start a tad later than usual. Last night, for whatever reason, I got no sleep so I slept a bit late before starting the routine, which began with making pancakes. Mmm….

For whatever reason, they’re not as good as in Morocco, but they’re still fine. The margarine I use, though, doesn’t really melt well. It’s pretty greasy.

After doing a bit of sink laundry, I grabbed by cloth bag and headed to the grocery store. Clouds loomed on my walk, but it’s the dry season now, right?

Well. Sometime while I was in the Giant in the basement, the clouds opened and holy cow, it rained. Badly.I did not have my new, frou-frou umbrella with me, as it's SUPPOSED to be the dry season. Liars.

When I got out of the store, completely oblivious, it was still raining cats and dogs. I hung around awhile and thought maybe it was clearing up so I set out.

Mistake. Fortunately, it being my day off, I was wearing Chacos and capris instead of tennis shoes and long pants, because the water just flooded. By the end of the 15-minute walk home, I was, quite literally, as soaked as I was after my post-workout shower that morning.

But it’s water, not napalm, so whatever. Everything’s drying on the balcony, including the morning’s laundry, which of course hasn’t had a moment to dry.

Nothing’s jumped off the railing, though. That’s a plus.

While at the mall, I had a major disappointment in my clothing quest. I’m hoping to find a new sports bra or bathing suit top suitable to work out in, what since my venture for a new T-shirt isn’t going so well.

Happily, in the department store where I bought my shoes, I found something appropriate – I think it was a dance top. It’d work, and it wasn’t too pricey.

It was, however, WAY too small. I picked up a large and an XL to try, and I gave the XL a shot first.

Perhaps my workout routine is far more successful than I noticed, because I couldn’t get the thing past my elbows. I heard threads popping. And that was the XL.

Thinking maybe they were different brands, I gave the large the ol’ college try. Barely made it to my forearms, and I’m not Popeye. I’m just glad I was able to get it off before it looked like something a tranny Incredible Hulk would have shed.

Yeah.

It’s tough to buy stuff in another country. Food is fun. You take a lot of risks, whether it’s making sure the powdery stuff really is baking soda for the pancakes, if that A&W can *really* is root beer or when choosing candy.

The fake M&Ms I think I’ve documented. Pretty darn good. It’s possible, but tough, to go wrong with chocolate. Cookies and things like that, well… there is a lot more room for misinterpretation.

All apartment buildings, as well as practically every kind of business, have some form of minimart in it. Mine’s called, for some reason, 5-11. I think they pulled that out of a hat because it is NOT open until 11. I have been getting home around 10:45 lately and it’s clearly been closed and abandoned by that time. I cannot verify the “5” part. Nor do I want to.

But when I was down there dropping off my laundry, I hoped to get some kind of non-sugar snack. These days, I don’t mind rewarding myself with sugar because according to the little workout machines I’m doing away with about two Snickers bars every morning and I don’t actually eat Snicker bars here, so I feel I can treat myself.

But sometimes you want salt over sugar. I am not a big fan of the flavored chips here – I mean, I can do BBQ, but “chicken BBQ”? Salt chips exist, but are hard to find. We have Pringles and even a fake Pringles, but my particular 5-11, my only option at this craving attack, didn’t have them.

So I looked at the crackers. Not a package in English, so, like PCVs and expats everywhere do at times, I took a stab based on the picture.

It looked good. Really. Kind of orange-y and welcoming, like a Ritz with salt sprinkled on them. They were big and rectangular, though – pretty hearty-looking.

And cheap. I guess crackers are cheaper than sugary things, and you get more of them. So, sold.

God help me. I was an ad major; I should have known better.

I sort of chickened out immediately and didn’t bother trying them for a few days. Eventually, I decided I needed a cracker and tried them.

Oh, man. Nasty stuff. I couldn’t place the flavor, but it was nowhere near a Ritz, and definitely not even one of those Cheetoh-colored ones that have the peanut butter inside.

No, this was some flavor I couldn’t place, and I think the reason I had a hard time placing it because it was *sugar,* not salt, topping it. That’s just wrong.

Still, I had a whole pack and wasn’t going to waste them. I took them into work to eat in case I got hungry.

And, eventually, I got hungry. I thought maybe the second one would be better.

No.

No.

NO.

It’s grimacy bad, really. So not what a cracker is supposed to taste like.

But really, I was unsure of what, exactly, it WAS supposed to taste like. I mean, perhaps that head-shaking taste with the sugary bite at the end was exactly what it was supposed to be.

In this lovely Google age, and especially at work with a computer sitting right there, I figured I had the power to find out.

I typed in the words on the package, and, to my horror, learned I was eating “beef-flavored” crackers.

My God. We have those in America. They’re called "dog biscuits."

I swear. I’ve been eating Scooby Snacks for people.