*Nafas Kabeer* "Ana Lasim Akel" (That's My Arabic for *Deep Breath* "I Need to Eat")

I try to leave my compound as infrequently as possible. Going anywhere simply isn't worth the frustration most of the time. For those of you who have never been to this country, let me describe this morning's trip to the grocery store. It contains about the usual amount of weird by Saudi standards. If I could get away with not eating, I would never go grocery shopping again because average amounts of Saudi weird aren't as cute as they were when I first got here.

My friend, Brenda, and I went to a new grocery store called Lulu's. We grabbed our carts and began our adventures at the cutest named store in town. Doing this was much easier sideways, because neither of us had shopping carts that steered straight. After switching our carts, we made our way over to the food. Both of us love talking, but the noisy Koran reading over the loudspeaker ruined our conversation. We split up and bumped into each other occasionally.

All the food that's cheap in America is an expensive import over here and vice versa, so I find myself eating like someone living in the Middle East should. I don't always know what I'm buying, but sometimes it's surprisingly good. Out of all the food, the produce definitely wins the What the...? Award. I now know that tapioca looks like a yam instead of a white bead in a red box, that gooseberries are green balls the same size as a crab apple but ten times as sour, and that mangos come in about twenty different varieties. Today's culinarily adventurous purchase was some Indian ginger. I have no idea what makes it more three times more expensive than the larger Chinese ginger, but I have never seen it before so I added a small root to my cart.

When you finish your produce shopping, you take all your clear cellophane bags to a man who weighs and places a price tag on all of your goods. The dude was whipping right along until he got to my mango bag. He didn't recognize which type of mango it, so what do you think he did? Something logical like ask a coworker or ask me? No. He asked the husband of the lady behind me waiting for her turn to have her produce bagged. Is there a man on the planet who knows or cares enough about mangos enough to distinguish someone else's through a plastic bag? The answer should be, "Yes, but only a few. They can all be found weighing and placing price tags on produce at grocery stores in Riyadh." Not surprisingly, the man being questioned had no clue, so I opened my big mouth like I frequently do around here. "Why would that man know how much my mangos are? If you don't know, ask me. I'm standing right in front of you." The worker probably understood a couple words, but he got the gist that I think he's an idiot.

Moving right along, I went to the deli area. I needed a little bit of cheddar, but not enough to go moldy or dry up in my fridge. Maybe 1/4 of a pound. My American brain did some quick math, then I asked the man working behind the counter, "Could I please get 1/8th of a kilogram of cheddar?"

The man blankly asked, "One eight kilograms. Yes ma'am. Eighteen kilograms for pick up later?"

Eighteen kilograms...so that's like 40 pounds of cheddar! No, I don't think I will pick that up later. I like cheese, but come on. "No, I want zero-point-one-two-five kilograms now, please."

I wrapped up my shopping, then headed to the cashier. The rows of empty registers attest to the fact that Saudis on the whole are nocturnal. I began unloading my full cart and some man walked from the door and approached me. He had a cart full of--I kid you not-- at least 50 bars of soap. From his appearance soap was either a new discovery for him, or he couldn't figure out what it was for. He loudly demanded that I move so he could pass through my aisle. I still don't know what was going on, why he was walking in the store with all the soap, why he didn't go to customer service if he was doing a return, or why he couldn't use any of the other registers, but I've learned not to ask why around here. I don't like bossy people, so I didn't move except to continue unloading my groceries. He kept talking to me, but I was not in the mood to try to understand.

Brenda was all bagged up and ready to go, and our eyes met with that look of, "Let's get out of this crazy place." When the driver approached both of us refused help from the bag boys who load your groceries from the cart into the car, often smashing bread, cracking eggs and ruining bananas. Now we will eat like kings for the next few days, then stretch out the non-perishables as long as we can so we don't have to repeat that experience any time soon.