Arabic Church Again

They remembered me. All of them. Even the four year old girl. O.o That was one part weird to three parts flattery and good feelings. Even the rowdy little boy said,

"Miranda? I heard that name once, a long time ago..."

I came. I cut out hearts for little kids to make fathers day cards. I drew pictures and taught them to make fortune tellers. I ate some delicious rice stuff with a mixture of chicken broth and boiled chicken and a spinach like thing poured over it. I ate a lasagna thing that was creamy and sweet. I ate pita bread. I recieved a gift of fresh eggs from a farmer: no pesticides, they said. I tried Arabic Coffee. Even the American kind is to strong for me, so they all laughed.

"We have Arabic Watermelon too." They said.

"How is it different?"

"Ha ha! It's from the Grocery Store!" -.-

And they remembered me. The new ones asked me my name, and what country I was from.

"Uhm... Here?"

"Oh really? You look like at least a mix."

"Yeah, I think you could pass for Arabic."

I get told that about nearly everything... I could pass. Oh, the confusion!

Having left at 7:00, I got home at 11:00; that's four hours of church. And it speeds by in a blur of Candy Land and Qahwah. There was a fierce storm outside, so I waited it out in my kitchen, watching another hour go by. I watched Tidbit snore as I finished up the first chapter of Italian. It's been a long day, but Ah... The Happiness.