It's The Little Things

It's strange the things that are making me feel homesick right now, are really not the things I would expect. I honestly think I would weep salty tears if I could get my hands on some dental floss (an affordable/palatable glass of pinot noir would probably induce a stroke). This weekend I went to the Q-Mart, a local supermarket-type place that caters to "expats." But, clearly, not U.S. expats. They did carry peanut butter, but that was my only good score (creamy Skippy). Not, only did they not have floss. They had non-alcoholic wine. Some crap called Billabong from Australia. Who would buy that?! And tampons . . . Good luck. I'm still trying to figure out the South Asian code of female modesty. The morning after pill is advertised on teevee here all day, every day. But, no tampons anywhere. I've resigned myself to feeling like a big diapered baby . . . a la David Vitter.