The real ex-pat

Socialistic principles aside. Ex-patness brought on a case of Domestication.

Others were doing it, it wasn't..sniff...as if I ...sniff... I was hurting anyone.

It was a big house, the kids were young, the wife was under a knife to remove a vital organ or something close to a vital organ, we had no mother-in-law. We had little friends we could trust with our darlings or wanted to be trusted by our darlings.

We had ex-pat cash , we had a 'domestic'.

And in one fell swoop I was master of servents. I was joining the ranks of the nearly rich and famous who had food made by a non-family member and was not covered in plastic some five micrwaved minutes earlier. Shirts crisply ironed and ready on demand. A family picture not hiding under a residue of dust and MY God! have I aged. I had been turned. My father probably turned as well....in his grave. Voting Tory was a small step away.

And the good news... my language skills improved after several embarrassing incidents involving socks and knickers which apparently sound similar in her tongue or at least the way I asked for socks.

And the good news we had a friend

And the Good News we helped her to better things...a career outside making very nice salad for me and the family.

I miss the salad mind.