That time I mistakenly took the wrong bag from the airport…

Part 1: the flight to Cairo

The airplane was an hour late, during the flight I was serenaded by a choir of children screaming blue murder. One particular child during the flight really wanted me to know that her brother’s name is Ryan so she kept telling me that, about once a minute, for the duration of the five hour flight. I arrive in Cairo and let the pollution saturated air of the motherland engulf me. All Egyptians know that feeling the moment you step on the tarmac and take that first breath of Cairo and for minute you wonder whether you are actually breathing at all. But worst of all scatterbrain Salma retrieved a bag from the airport that wasn’t hers. Going now in hopes of finding the airline office open and a solution.

Part 2: Comedic attempts to find a solution

I go to Cairo international airport at 10 pm to attempt to retrieve my bag. I’m exhausted and haven’t slept all night. Anyways I have to tell my story to 3 different security men untill I arrive at the area where the airline companies are.

Incidentally, that’s where they store the airport wheelchairs.

The office is closed but there is a middle aged man sitting on a wheelchair and obviously as this is Egypt he asked me what I was looking for, and for once this is a good thing. I tell him my story. He gets up and says:

-Here take a wheelchair to sit on (he unchains a wheelchair). I’ll call someone for you. I’m everyone’s boss here انا الرئيس هنا.

He makes a call and I overhear the following:

-Hi Badawy, there is a very old woman here, she’s my cousin and she took the wrong bag, she lives very very far, veeryyy far and she is tired can you send someone to open the office? She’s very sick and I don’t want her to come twice. والله دي ست كبيرة وتعبانه وحرام نبهدلها وسكنة في ااااااخر الدنيا (he winks at me, I wonder how I’m going to appear very old at short notice).

He proceeds to call the entire Transavia office and finally gives me the number of their boss and sends me on my way. They in turn gave me other phone numbers. Anyways, hopefully today I’ll retrieve my bag and see my wheelchair guardian/boss of Cairo airport terminal 1 friend again.

Part 3: I finally retrieve my bag

This is me (photo below), happy to have recuperated my bag. I went to the airport after calling 5 or 6 people whom I reached thanks to the wheelchair king and president of Terminal 1.

Now Cairo airport is a very serious place.

Very serious indeed. In order to access the storage unit of Cairo airport I needed security clearance. For that I needed a criminal record check, a customs check and another procedure I can’t remember. One of the nice people at Terminal 1 did all that for me, while I waited for an hour or maybe 2, I had lost track of time. He came with a plastified card bearing my picture and i was introduced into the top secret location needing all that security clearance, a top secret corridor in which was a top secret high tech mop and a clearly confidential rubbish bin. He went into a storage room and got out my bag. He told me “you know, your bag is blue and beige, the other bag was is blue and gray, did you go blind or something ? And then he said “when you have children be careful to pick the right one up from school : لما ربنا يرزقك بعيل ابقى خدي بالك متغلطيش لما تجي تخديه من المدرسة و تخدي عيل غيره " It occurred to me that he probably had a point. He told me to call him if I ever visited Terminal 1 again so that he could help me if I ever had extra luggage. I always did like Terminal 1 better than Terminals 2 & 3.

Durian and Egyptian virility

Rue Volta in the second arrondissement is known for having several excellent Asian commerces and restaurants. We were walking down that street and I see a fruit and vegetable store and they had several boxes of cherries which were big and shiny, the first of the season. I tell my companion in Arabic منجيب قفص كريز, which translates to “let’s get a cage of cherries” which is a very Egyptian formulation. The vendor immediately started laughing, recognizing us as his compatriots even if by that time we were several meters away and invited us in. He very nicely gave us his best crate of cherries at a discount and gifted us two فص عويس mangoes, the best mango variety there is. They are tiny, no bigger than the palm of your hand and have an unbelievable flavor. Then I took a look at the shop and spotted some Durian and this where things got weird. I told my companion: “look! this is Durian in some countries it’s banned in public transport, I’ve always wondered what it tastes like” and immediately our new friend offered us some. We tried it and well, it’s an acquired taste that I have yet to acquire. Then the shopkeeper said “I’m going to say something that us men understand, Durian isn’t very nice but people buy it because it gives men certain powers, but Egyptian men don’t need those powers, Egyptian men are the strongest, the whole world knows that”. I, of course wanted to disappear under ground, far from Egyptian men and their alleged powers and cultural stereotypes.

Falafel countries and Couscous countries…

The collective psyche in France seems to divide the Arab World into two categories of countries: couscous countries and falafel countries. Egypt doesn't seem to be considered a falafel country in its own right and is therefore merged with Lebanon. Hence, I am always asked if I am originally Lebanese, which is of course flattering. They don't know of course who has the best falafel.

French customer service and intercultural dialogues

I had the opportunity to witness a very interesting cross cultural dialogue between an American tourist and an employee of the SNCF yesterday. But first context. I was off to visit a childhood friend and I arrive at the station half an hour early only to be told that the station was being evacuated due to an abandoned piece of luggage. When this happens and it happens regularly, the authorities act as if they were faced with a mini apocalypse while the public act blasé. So I wait diligently for two hours in the cold in front of the station.

I had company, notably a freezing teenage girl who kept calling her mother to blame her for the situation and an exhausted mother whose toddler had a plastic toy sheep called Maurice she kept trying to eat. Finally they opened the gates and people ran around like chickens without a head trying to get in.

Once inside the station I had to queue for 45 minutes to get a ticket exchange at which point I overheard an American tourist asking to be upgraded to first class for her trouble. The SNCF employee told her with extreme indifference that between 40 cancelled trains, a strike and school holidays the most he could offer was a 6 am ticket with no guarantee of a seated place. She asked to speak to the manager at which point the SNCF employee decided to no longer understand English. There is something to be said for this very French ability to stand one’s ground even while working in the service industry.

An unexpected gesture of kindness

Random story on how I was kindly offered these berries for free. As usual it’s nothing particularly fascinating but I think it’s cute. On the day restaurants opened in France after an 8 months closure I was in rue St Denis. This street was known as a prostitution hotspot but now it’s mostly taken over by hip restaurants, cheap bars and the occasional 60+ year old « fille de joie » who you see at the same spot, day in, day out, come hell or high water, displaying a work ethic that is clearly undervalued, but I digress. So on that particular day, while people were fighting tooth and nail for a spot at a restaurant, à man stood in front of his little grocery desperately trying to sell a case of strawberries. He was doing this with a doggedness and an obstination that for me could only be Egyptian. In Egypt we tend to display the same obstination for good or bad business ideas alike. Funnily this man, in normal times is always in his shop quietly not trying to push any sales at all. Today, I saw him and asked him, directly if he was Egyptian. He told me yes and asked me how I guessed and I replied that it was obstination on selling strawberries at the least appropriate time. He never did sell his strawberry crates that day but tried to sell me some today. Then he gave me these blackberries for free, telling me that they are «the French berries » and are different from Egyptian mulberries which he would eat as a child. I didn’t tell him I had had blackberries before, his kindness had touched me as well his constant chatting that kept going on for over 15 minutes. In the past few years in Cairo, vegetable sellers no longer chat with you and they no longer give you anything for free even if you have known them for years.

Cross-cultural approaches to plumbing

Forget chefs étoilés, luxury boutiques and exclusive venues. The real premium experience in Paris is the plumbing company down the street and when you are not a VIP well... good luck to you and woe betide you if you need them urgently.

First of all you need to book a consultation for which you have to pay an hourly fee. Once that’s done they study your issue and send you a proposal. Except that they are so successful and so popular that you have to chase them in order for them to send you their bill and proposal. If you don’t pay for the consultation, they don’t really care. They won’t chase you. They don’t need your money. They are cool like that.

Once you have your proposal you have to usually wait 2 to 3 weeks for them to have an availability. If you have an emergency they actually ask you to resort to another plumbing company and even volunteer to give you contacts. But of course they have been in your street for 5 generations and know every appartement by heart and only they will do. Plumbing is a very underrated career path. They know the ins and outs of your old Haussmanien building and it’s ancient labyrinth of valiently resistent pipes. So, I had no choice but to try my luck with them.

The reason why I needed a plumber is that deep behind beautiful my Haussmanien walls lie a bunch of pipes, tangled like a plate of spaghetti. One of them is leaking and I identified that thanks to my acute sense of smell (my underrated talent sometimes proves useful).

The superstar plumber identified the leak by inserting a long flexible camera into the wall. He advised us to get a contractor to open the access to the pipes so that we can save on their hefty hourly rates.

I called our trusted Egyptian contractors and to my surprise they marched in today carrying three huge saws and directly stared sawing the column in which the pipe was situated ignoring me as I frantically tried to get them to communicate with me on their action plan. Indeed, when you have barely woken up and are clinging to your coffee cup for dear life, seeing three men running around your appartment with saws is a notable occurence.

Finally the head contractor decided that it was his duty to find the hole and inspect it himself «because the French plumber might be lying to you and he will mess up all my hard work and I don’t need a bloody fancy camera to do my job. I’ve been doing this since I was 13 and we didn’t have any equipement let alone cameras and I have built houses with my own bare hands, so this for me is nothing».

He spends the next 20 minutes yelling at his assistant before finally finding the leak himself and telling me that he has no idea how to fix it and that hopefully the French plumber won’t rip me off.

COVID and the Cauliflower fondler

I sometimes do my groceries at the local «bio » store. The clientèle there is particularly colorful and seems to react to the COVID19 pandemic with post apocalyptic hysterical panic or complete denial. The other day, I was waiting like an idiot, as usual for the vegetable aisle clear out so I could respect social distancing (a concern which my co-shoppers did not seem to share), I was delayed by a rather peculiar man. He was wearing the usual rich marais hippy attire: sandals, worn out combat pants and a vomit colored misshapen natural fibre t shirt. He was picking out a cauliflower and in doing so he was clearly intent on harming the biggest number of people possible. It seemed that buying the perfect cauliflower was the single most important decision of this person’s life. He was picking up every single one, inspecting it, fondling them tenderly and putting them back. I was truly at a loss. How important could it be to get a perfect cauliflower during a pandemic for this person to risk contaminating everyone? I wanted to say something but decided instead to tell the staff “il y a un monsieur qui tripote les chou fleurs”. I need to be more direct the next time someone tries to turn a cauliflower into a biological weapon.

Ah cette jeunesse…

What are about 40 high school students doing in the metro at 10 pm ? All I wanted was to listen to music in peace, now I have to listen to one 14 year old telling another about how he intends to have his way with his sister unless he accepts to delete an unflattering Snapchat video. “La vide d’ma mère t’efface ce snap sinon ta soeur je la prends et je la baise” and the other young man/child/creature replied “j’ai qu’un frère mais vas-y si tu veux”. All under the watchful eye of two teachers.

Never a dull moment.

The joys of air-travel

Funny things I was told in the US:

1. By the Air-hostess in response to a question I asked “you know what sweetie, you just leave the plane and follow the instructions. This is America and in America we always tell you what to do. All you need to do is follow, like cattle. That’s why folks who can’t read like to come here. They know what to do because we tell them.”

2. TSA Agent as I was hauled in the scanner “my wife used to have long hair like yours and boy do I miss it now, looking at yours.”

3. Taxi driver “I do love corned beef, we eat corned beef on St Patrick’s day. I couldn’t have any corned beef when I was serving in Irak. There is no corned beef in that sandbox.”

This was after a 14 hour trip and 2 “random” searches at Paris Charles de Gaulle. One needs to be a zen master to travel these days.

Self-congratulatory nonsense

I often question my life choices. I tell myself that I act impulsively or I don’t make the best decisions. However, sometimes I see things that make me realize I’m doing ok, like this guy I just saw with a big puffy yellow croissant and «happy Sunday » tattooed on his forearm.

Drugs are never the answer, but then again, the Taxi driver forgot the question

I wanted to leave City Stars Mall and head to downtown Cairo but I couldn’t find a single Taxi willing to take me. After a long wait, a driver finally accepted and he even accepted to turn on the meter. I jumped in immediately. 

In my desperation I didn't notice that the gentleman was either high or unwell. At first he was just fidgety. He kept on driving in zigzags and ducking under his seat to find contraptions to decorate the car : he took out a spoon govered in glow sticks and optic fibers, then a mango plush toy, some prayer beads and 3D cinema glasses. When the car looked like the offspring of a Christmas tree and disco ball, the driver finally seemed happy, but this interlude of calm was very short lived.

Things got worse as soon as we reached the highway, he saw a billboard of the Egyptian football team and started talking to with them with a voice full of emotion:

-My lions, my pride !!!!! I love you, I swear to god.  يا أسود يا فخر البلد بحبكم اه والله

He moved on and started muttering under his breath:

-I will win the race against that white Hyundai over there, I will crush you my friend, I will crush youuuuuuuuuuu. You’ll be soud as scrap metal, you will see. هتتبع خردة يا هيونداي

The white Hyundai of course did not share in his sportsmanship .

We finally enjoyed some calm on the 6th of October bridge but it was short lived . He saw a Pepsi commercial with Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo on it and decided he had to talk to them:

- Messi ! I hate you, you spoilt idiot ! I spit on you سفخس عليك سفخس, but not you Ronaldo, you're my habibi ! Walahi Habibi!!!!

He was about to slow down and talk more but he got distracted by an ambulance behind him. He decided to engage a bit with the Ambulance, placing his car in its way and waiving at it cheerfully saying:

- Hey ! Uncle Ambulance!!! I'll let you pass but only after I tell you this !! I love Egypt and Egypt loves me ! I love Egypt and Egypt loves me! يا عام الأسعاف مصر بتحبني و أنا بحبها اه والله 

After that, he was calm for the rest of the drive on the bridge, only occasionally muttering about a Mercedes stuck next to us in traffic:

-That’s a nice car you’re driving… Veeeeryyyy nice. I bet you love it. I bet you love it very much. Who do you love more rich man? Your wife or your car?

Thankfully he remained relatively calm after that. Only emitting the odd whisper or unexplained fit of laughter.

The trip was finally coming to an end. We exited the 6th of October bridge onto Ramsees Square. He parked all of a sudden, a few hundred meters for the bridge and got out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. He walked away saying

-When he comes, tell him I went to piss and remember: I love Egypt and Egypt loves me!

He never told me who “he” was and he did return to the taxi some 15 minutes later, his face soaking wet and looking a lot more refreshed. I made it home. I lived to tell the tale. 

Actual picture from the inside of the taxi. The mango plush toy is visible.

Lawyers, donkeys, romance and flowers

Today in the Uber ride, after exchanging the usual lamentations on state of the Arab world, the Uber driver had some interesting observations upon learning that he was in the company of two lawyers: “Lawyers ? Ahhhh ! I like lawyers ! Literary and romantic people you are! I myself I am a mathematician! I’m not romantic at all! For my wife’s birthday, I give her cash and told her to go buy what she wants ! I never bought her flowers! I don’t understand flowers. I mean flowers have no value and even a donkey knows that . If you give a donkey a flower, he wouldn’t even eat it ! However, if I were a lawyer, I would surely buy my wife flowers because then I’d be an idealist, just like you!” 

The mystery of the Royal Dansk cookie box

When you find a legendary product in the supermarket!

If you grew up in the Middle East you were without a doubt confronted to these cookies, or shall I say, the lack thereof.

Let me explain. In many an Egyptian home, you will find a box of these cookies lying about.

When you open them, you will find anything you can imagine: knickknacks, sewing équipement, electricity bills everything except cookies.

I started to believe that these cookies were never sold in shops, ever, and that they just appeared ex nihilo in the Egyptian household . Imagine my surprise and obviously exaggerated excitement, seeing them in a store and discovering that they contained actual cookies. I wouldn't dare buy them though. I feel like it would break an enchantement. I am still waiting for a box of them to appear out of thin air in my house, filled with colored thread and spare buttons.

We’re all mad here…

So yesterday, I stop a taxi in front of the Garden City Four Seasons Nile Plaza hotel. The driver was giving me majestic waves from afar. I couldn’t cross, the street was full of racing cars. He bellowed accrosss the street: "Hurry up! come in quickly I am not allowed to stop here". Indeed a security guard came and reprimanded him for stopping, I managed to cross and clamber in, barely escaping death and we sped off.

The following conversation ensued:

-I'm very sorry you got yelled at, I didn't know you couldn't stop there.

-Noooooo Docotra, noooo don't worry, they are CRAZY ! Just like this country is CRAZY! One day you can stop, one day you can't ! One day you can eat meat, the next you go hungry ! It all depends on who is there and what they feel like.

We drive on and reach the Cairo University bridge. It was a very hot day and the sun was slicing through us like a knife. The dense traffic had bought the bridge to a standstill. My driver pointed to a taxi to our right. The driver looked absolutely miserable and was obviously suffering in the heat. He was repeatedly rubbing his face with a filthy washcloth. This seemed to intrigue my taxi driver to no end:

-See little Doctora, the country is NUTS ! Look at that man wiping his face with that disgusting towel. It’s black! it’s dirty! But but but, it’s a bit wet ! Would a sane man do that ? Noooooooooooooooooooooo! I know why he is doing that though. It’s only because of the heat! He is actually trying to hide from Cairo in the dirty towel ! Hahhahhaa! You can't hide ! You can’t hide! This city is everywhere even if you can’t see it!

We continue our bumper to bumper rout. A little, later he points towards a tall building by the Nile:

-Look there Doctora, see that tall building? A man jumped off there and WOOOOOOW, fell way down to the bottom. He was crazy too, just like me and you, and all of us who live here! He went down and down and down, into the Nile. 

Basically the whole ride continued this way but he was driving responsibly-ish, he turned on the meter and didn't play loud music so I considered it an ok ride.

Keep calm and don’t carry on…

Naively believing that things work as they should, I enter my location in Careem and wait for my ride.

Almost automatically my phone rings, which is never a good sign.

-ALLOOOOI!!! Yes yes madam, so look madam, I’m near the Opera metro station, how do I get to your house from there ? The GPS says I’m 4 minutes away.

- Sir, i don't understand, can't you follow the location feature? Also how can the GPS say you're 4 minutes away when Opera metro station is a 20 minute drive from Garden City ? You still have to cross the bridge.

-Madam of course I know how to use the location feature, please "be relax keda" calm your nerves. It’s just easier to call you, because even if I know how to use the GPS, the GPS doesn’t know how to drive. This is easier.

-It depends, easier for whom?

-No no it's easy for you. I'll pick you up at Kempinsky hotel, ok ? Your house seems to be in a complicated place. I hate Garden City. I get lost, the streets confuse me. I’ll be there in two minutes.

-You're still far…

-Madam be optimistic, be positive, positive ok ? Keep those nerves calm, I drive very fast...

The terrors of midnight cleaning

Recently in Garden City, a building collapsed in the street behind my house. Of course as a result, I am a bit jumpy. Imagine my terror when at 3 am, all the lights flash on in the rooms adjacent to my bedroom, followed by apocalyptic noises of mechanical rumbling and what sounds like buckets falling on the ground with sharp thuds.

I get out of bed at once and run to the living room, the source of the noise, only to hear the radio start playing Om Kalthoum and to see my housekeeper wearing a flashy colored jumpsuit wrestling the vacuum cleaner and pushing about buckets and brooms. When I asked her why she decided to clean at 3 am (and incidentally give me a stroke) she said:

"Since your father retired, he won't leave the house, which means I can't finish my cleaning in time for my TV shows. Now I'm taking advantage of the fact that he is asleep to clean at night so that I can watch TV during the day. I've missed many shows and I need to catch up.

Stop being so spoilt now and go to bed. I'm hardly making any noise !"

PS: Pictured in the cover image of the post is the building that collapsed. 

Om Kalthoum, whose voice is often the backdrop of Egyptian life, in sad, happy and absurd situations.

An appointment to make an appointment

I wanted to make an appointment to see a Doctor and called the cellphone number provided. The Doctor's assistant answered, however, he was on his way to work, in the midst of Cairo traffick and he was probably in a microbus. He clearly was a very motivated individual. The following conversation ensued:

-Hello ? Dr x's Clinic? My name is Salma Lotfy, I want to make an appointment.

-Hello, Hello, yes Madam yes, of course an appointment, yes. Hey you, that's my seat, stay on yours...

-Excuse me ?

-No no Madam, not you, you can stay on your seat, I was not talking to you and not talking to you about seats, I'm just commuting.

-Oh, would you like me to call later ?

-So yes the appointment, well, you see Dr. X does not just take appointments, you have to come in person to schedule an appointment.

- Can't I just schedule it on the phone ?

-No no I'm sorry Madam you have to honor us in person.

-Ok but don't I have to schedule a time to come and book an appointment ?

- Yes exactly Madam, schedule a time to honor us with your presence to make your appointment.

-Ok... So I need an appointment to make an appointment ?

-No that's not what I'm saying, Madam, you need to book a time and date to come and book an appointment.

-So I need an appointment for an appointment ?

-Madam we are a very elegant and high class clinic and our system is what I told you."

....

The decline of a noble profession..

A cab driver was going on about how Uber and Careem were ruining the country and that the recent increase in their prices was a reflection of how the government was taking action . So i made the huge mistake of asking him : "How have Uber and Careem impacted your business?" He responded as follows:

"Look Miss, I will tell you. See the Taxi profession in Egypt is an old one, I myself inherited it from my father who got it from his father before him. We're professionals see? Not, and excuse me for using this term, donkey cart drivers. But, but, but this is not the case for everyone.

Since 1983, our profession has gone down the drain. See, in 1983, every unemployed idiot would buy a cab and call himself a Taxi driver . You'd be sitting in a café and see a friend and tell him "hey, i have no work, i'm broke" and he'd tell you "take my car and drive it about". Now everything got worse after the Revolution. Thugs were breaking out of jail, running around in the streets and jumping into Taxis. Now !! With all those thugs driving around nice girls like you felt less safe. Obama and America saw this and decided that it was a perfect opportunity to launch the destruction of our civilization with Uber and Careem. They established these bad companies here, knowing that they would fight in the street with good hard working Taxi drivers. Now Obama is looking at us through the GPS and, as he sees the world go up in flames, he is happy."

Inflation and cooking shows

My housekeeper was chatting about her most recent squabble with the ambulant fruit vendor who was reckless enough to ask her for money at the door. Meanwhile, was staring at my phone pretending to listen because my housekeeper is known to routinely yell at, and occasionally physically assault that particular vendor.

Egypt's most popular cooking show, featuring “Chef Sherbini” was playing on the television in the background. Chef Sherbini was saying "now add a tablespoon of sugar to the sauce of the beef to balance out the flavour".

All of a sudden, she turns around and yells "Who the hell still eats beef or has sugar in this country you fat idiotic buffalo ?? How about you show us how to make broth by boiling rocks ! Now that would actually make sense." Luckily a commercial break auspiciously interrupted the inflation triggered rant.

Age is just a number and a function of hormones and chicken

After a 20 minute wait to find a taxi to take me from Zamalek to Garden City, I finally find a taxi willing to do me the honor of driving me home (several had refused previously, which is not unusual in Egypt). I enter the vehicle with a sense of relief only to realize that the driver in question doesn’t look a day over twelve years of age. Factoring in stunted growth and bad visibility, the maximum age one could attribute to him was fifteen and even that was a stretch. Nevertheless, I decide to carry on with the ride, after all, how dangerous could it be ? I assumed he probably had been driving since he was ten.

Very quickly I realize that knowing how to drive was not the gentleman’s problem. His main issue was that he did not know his way around Cairo at all. Moreover, convinced that he was driving a clown cart or another recreational vehicle. He was also constantly looking at his phone, scrolling through photographs of expensive cars. After three wrong turns and whilst his car was pirouetting around the entrance of the Kasr El Nile Bridge, I say:

-Please put down your phone and look at the road !!! يا روح ما بعدك روح , my life is precious to me but yours doesn’t seem precious to you! How old are you ?!!

Of course, I had inadvertently condemned myself to a conversation for the rest of the journey. He beamed and slickly turned around to say:

-How old do you think I am auntie? Actually, you know what ? I’ll show you my ID so you can see for yourself. But now, I have to know how old you are!

He said this at a very slow pace, taking his time, his eyes, of course, were off the road, proceeds to look for said ID, while I was begging him to keep his eyes on the road.Completely disregarding me, he lit a cigarette, and kept on shuffling through mysterious papers whilst proffering gems of wisdom:

-Ok auntie, forget my ID, God doesn’t want it to be found, ماليش نصيب ألاقيها ! We don’t need to discuss my age. Let’s discuss yours. I’d say you're 22. Why ? I'll tell you why!

I hadn’t asked but he continued regardless:

-Girls these days, they develop so quicky you wouldn’t know if they are 12 or 30! It's all because of hormone chicken. Hormone chicken is full of hormones! I swear, they make you grow up quickly and die quickly! Age doesn’t matter anymore because of chicken! Mankind has changed. One day you are a young girl playing with dolls, you eat Pané chicken and you wake up with a developped chest and are ready to get married. So maybe you look older, but because of the hormones and bad food, I’d guess you are younger.

We finally arrive to my destination, I was surprised to be alive. Of course, his meter wasn’t working and he wanted he requested a sum that was larger than usual for such a short, albeit eventful trip.

-Listen auntie that chicken stuff was all make believe to make you feel better, you look older than 22. I deserve five extra pounds for those mistake detours ok, that’s all extra gas I have to pay. وبعدين اعتربي اني فاسحتك