…when you are not paying attention in a new country.
We had just got back from our weekly, big grocery shopping at TSC when I realized we had no milk, and that I had completely forgotten to buy milk at TSC. So I took a boy with me, I forgot which one, and ran over to Idriss. Just as we got there, they closed and locked the last gate. Now what? We are a family that cannot go without milk for more than a few hours. I asked the guys that were closing up, and they told me there was a night shop just a block away. There, I didn’t see any milk however. I interrupted the cashier who was involved in a very engaging and long phone conversation, to ask for milk – a word I know very well in Arabic - and he, annoyed, got four little bottle out for me. Not quite what I was looking for, but it would have to do for now. All the while, the boy I had brought is continuously asking for this or that treat, and the baby that I was carrying and hadn’t even realized I was carrying until he started trying to get into anything within reach at the tiny night shop, started whining. So I grabbed the bottles and headed home.
While putting the bottles in the fridge, I opened one and had a swig. Eeeeuuuuhh! “That’s not milk!” I announced. Goodness. How could I not have noticed?
Turns out I had got four bottles of that disgusting yogurt drink the Lebanese drink continuously throughout the day. It tastes sort of like Activia only it’s salty (Why?!). Yuck!