A Few Trivial Things

Laundry

I’m remembering the things I love and hate about European laundry. Love: the water is so hot, it can obliterate any stain. Clothes that were permanently stained in the US are now magically clean. Hate: the water is so hot, that anything that is both color and white is no longer white. Turk has a few pinkish shirts. It’s a good thing he has so much self confidence. I also miss having a dryer.

Driving

Driving in Turkey is terrifying for an American. No traffic rule is sacred. People weave in and out of traffic, create their own lanes, turn left from the far right-hand lane, flagrantly disregard traffic lights, and expect any pedestrian to get out of their way. E is getting his Turkish driving groove back, and it scares me. He drives fast, constantly vigilant of the cars around him, narrowly avoiding dozens of accidents—many caused by other similarly reckless drivers. I’m not sure what the solution is, though. I have driven a few times with E’s sister, and she is at the other extreme. She drives slowly, without any regard for other drivers. She pulls into traffic, slowly, and expects everyone to slow down for her. I can see that although she doesn’t speed, she’s probably a bigger hazard than her brother. All I know is that driving is stressful for me at all times, and I try to avoid getting in a car at all costs.

Shopping

The other day, E’s mother and sister invited me to go shopping. I agreed, eager for a trip out of the house (although it did involve driving to the mall with his sister). The mall is an exciting place. It has a nice new movie theater (we saw Thor last week), an entire amusement park, and exciting restaurants like “Corn in Cup.”


However, I did not agree to go shopping so they could buy me new clothes. It ended up being a mortifying experience. The last thing I want to do is try on clothes. I haven’t lost my pregnancy weight yet and feel extremely insecure about my appearance. Add to that, E’s sister is about 5 feet tall and maybe 70 lbs. She wears a size XS. It was a totally traumatic experience for me. I walked away, against my protests, with two pairs of what I think of as Muslim women pants. They are pants but look like skirts—so you are as modest as humanly possible. Sigh.

Food

For some reason, my in-laws think I only drink fruit juice. I don’t know where this came from since I generally only drink water. When I ask to drink water, they still only give me fruit juice. The other day my mother-in-law came home with my “favorite chips.” I was curious what my favorite chips were because I don’t even like chips. I guess my family does the same thing—they think Es eats ketchup on everything.