Parents are here
What that means to you, my dear readers, is probably less updates on the blog, and less swearing, and less talk about sex and violence.
What that means for me, is their wonderful company, home-cooked meals, laundry service and ironed clothes!
4 packs of curry powder (the ones here suck), 4 cups of kaya (including the ones in the plastic cups!), carton of Indomie Mee Goreng, Maggi, dried mushroons, anchovies, shrimp, coconut candy, Brahim's pastes, Portugese fish curry sauce, sambal sauce, dark soy sauce, ikan bilis paste, chicken stock. Enough booty to last me a year or more. In fact I still have that 2 huge packs of Milo from 2 years ago. Her shining moment was probably when the customs officer suspiciously eyed the kaya container, which had large pictures of chicken eggs on them (poultry products apparently aren't allowed in), and asked her if this contained eggs and what it was. Her answer was a convincing "It's just bread spread". Never argue with a mother.
And that was food alone, not counting my sister's stash of things. Unfortunately, her most precious, a Christmas gift from her boyfriend in Malaysia, was lost in transit. Mom had packed the beautifully wrapped box into her main luggage. But it was gone by the time it got her. Caryn was close to tears when she heard. I spent about 30 mins on the phone, talking to airport info, lost & found, Northwest Airlines info, TSA lost & found. Airlines these days can be so unreliable. But strangely enough though, like the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle, that package reappeared in Mom's bedroom in Malaysia. When we videoconferenced with family in Malaysia and vented about the missing package, my siter-in-law picked up a parcel and showed it on the camera and asked, "You mean this package?"
So much for mom having packed it.
The parents met up for drinks and dinner last night. Kristin's parents and mine, I mean. We all had a wonderful evening. I have to admit, I was initially nervous about mom and dad sharing baby stories, like the time I had a checkerboard seared onto my fat ass when I was 2. Digression: Was in the hospital for a case of gastroenteritis. After cleaning the toilet, they had neglected to wash away the corrosive chemical detergent which then collected in the spaces between the tiles. After pooping, I slipped and fell and suffered severe chemical burns on my tush (in retrospect, this is pretty good lawsuit material against the Seremban Hospital). Because of the pattern of the tiles, the burns I suffered looked like a checkerboard. For years after that, the scars remained and you could use my butt for checkers or chess if you wanted too. My mom would make me show that to their friends whenever they told that story. Thankfully, I didn't have to show my hairy butt to Kristin's parents. And the scars are gone. Though I imagine it'd be a lark to say, Hey Mrs. Olsen, wanna have a game of checkers? Anyway, they got along well, my parents and hers. I suppose that's a great start, for someday we might have to talk about dowries. On that note, I'm not taking anything less than 2 cows, 5 chickens, 4 goats and a dozen eggs. After all, I've been told doctors are high commodities these days. Even ugly ones.