The transition home has been pretty simple aside from a few meltdown moments. I anticipated feeling a little weird and spent some time prepping myself for the new things (more like daydreaming of the things I missed). Upon returning to the land of part time lovers and draft beer, the moments that most upset me were when the things I looked forward to failed me. My favorite things left me like a virgin on wedding night having discovered I’d married a starfish.
Guilty pleasure #1: Crappy radio.
While I want to say I am totally cool and don’t listen to trashy radio songs, I find comfort in tuning into a station and knowing my personal interpretation of the lyrics, which are only worthy of being sung into a hair brush while getting ready to go out. Not this time. As my sister scrolled through the programmed stations, I didn’t know a damn thing they were singing. I finally just kindly asked her to turn it off. Meltdown avoided.
Guilty pleasure #2: Target, a store where you can get anything you want in one stop.
I had a nail appointment and needed some flip-flops. As I drove through the parking lot I had to search for a spot. Unforeseen inconvenience #1. I walked into Target. They had made it larger and rearranged everything. I was lost!
My internal monologue went from almost Himalayan hippie Zen to so cal bitch in a hot second: “An entire f***ing aisle that sells nothing but CONTAINERS! There are boxes these exact sizes which the containers came in?!?!” “An aisle larger than most of the shops in Bhutan dedicated to Valentines Day and love! Nothing is permanent!!” “AND I’M GOING TO BE LATE!! They don’t even know what Bhutan time is!”
In the time it would have taken me to walk from my Bhutanese house to the main square in town, I finally reached the shoe aileSSSS.
I sat down next to a little girl and frantically tried on a few pairs of thongs. At one point the little girl chose the finest shoes she had seen all day and walked over to get her mother's opinion. Without glancing up from her own personal pile, the mother said, “You don’t need those.”
In my delirious state, I somehow I refrained from standing up, pointing to the pair of flops I was wearing and exclaiming, “NO!!! WE NEED THESE!”` The little girl moved on to a pair of ridiculously perfect furry slippers and I put on some so-not-me, hot pink, sorority sister flip flops, circa 2003. We looked at each other knowing that the shoes had chosen us, and I was off to get a year worth of calluses removed.