Morjes!

Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

The medicine cabinet

I hesitated posting about this, but I've decided to just go for it. Those of you who know my family have probably already figured out what they're like, and those of you who don't know them probably never will. So here goes.

I was looking for some kind of pain reliever the other day because I could feel a bad headache coming on. For as long as I can remember, my family has kept the medicines in the cabinet above the fridge, "organized" (I use the term very loosely) in separate shoeboxes.

Well, since I left home, they've apparently stepped up the organization level and actually labeled the boxes. When I opened the cabinet, this is what I saw:



(In case you can't see well enough, the boxes are labeled, from right to left, "First Aid," "Cold/Cough," "Diarrhea," and "Allergy/Nail Polish.")

That's right, folks. Diarrhea gets its own box. According to this system, a bad case of the runs is equivalent, emergency wise, to a severely bleeding flesh wound. Or the combination of hay fever and needing to repaint your nails.

In my family's defense, the diarrhea box shares with allergy medicines, but the "allergy" was covered up, and also, it belongs over with the nail polish anyway.

At least now I know where to go in an emergency.

24 hours of blessed freedom

Another receipt