Snacks, but no crackers.

Today Hubby asked me to drive to Wheaton with his amplifier. I could tell he felt bad, sending me on a long drive, but...honestly I love to drive, and I love being in the DC 'burbs.

The repair place thought, briefly, that they'd be able to fix his amp while I waited, so I hit four (count 'em! four!) ethnic markets before finding out that no, the amp is going to require a lot more help and parts from distant lands.

I now have rose water and orange blossom water on my desk, and my wrists reek of orange blossoms.

I have halva, which is delicious, and 2 of the sons agree with me that it tastes just like insides of a Butterfinger bar. I am guessing that is where the Butterfinger people got the idea.

The freezer has all manner of frozen Asian meaty things, which I can just pop in the toaster oven. and I have Indian curry awaiting the microwave.

I have a bag full of a vegetable I buy in large part because the name sounds, to English-speakers, obscene. But, yeah, they are delicious, too. Points to anyone who can guess what they are.

I have cheese and meat from the Italian deli where my grandmother used to buy her refrigerated pizza dough. They still sell the dough. And I just discovered today that Hubby used to go there for lunch, in high school. Small world, man. I wonder if I ever saw him in there.

Unlike the Happy Boondocks, where I almost seem ethnic myself, in Wheaton I was clearly a member of the Boring White Minority. Which was interesting.

I am home, stuffed, beat, but satisfied. And already planning my next trip to The Big City...