I am on the run. I had an early morning (make that early morning Moroccan time, 1100 hours) meeting with my French-tutor-to-be. It’s Morocco so we had to have tea and conversation (which is a good thing). Then I had to go to the bank for CASH (he he he, see her rubbing her hands together and doing the witch’s cackle) so that I can pay the rent, and the gym fee, and the utilities. Q had an errand up town and THEN – the market. Where truly Q buys enough for eight; I love the fact most of the meat is for M.C. Solaar who is now upstairs having his bath, his cries of abuse going out over the Oudayas unheeded. We had bags of carrots, tomatoes, avocado, bananas, potatoes, grapes, and an artichoke; along with some vegetables she explains to me as we go and the yummy turkey/apple sausage from the Butcher.
We came out of the market loaded down with bags (I bought Nutella as there was no Greek yogurt, that’s interchangeable yes?) into some sort of taxi desert! They were not to be seen, where normally they are lined up at the taxi stand. So we waited, like you do, and eventually they began to sprout. However there is another catch, you have to get one going your direction (sigh).
Now it is 1400 hours and I have to get to the gym/club. I have homework in both my courses for tomorrow and the rest of today’s blog to write. I think I will need a massage. I’ll be back later today. Happy Holiday to the Yanks!
Coming up: 1001 Nights at the spa, mothers of Shrek fans, the Osama bin Laden train for toddlers, my own sidewalk to the bank, and non-teaching holidays in Morocco
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