"Broken Toasters, Ice-Cream and Beer"

Our toaster is broken. Our cheap, canary yellow Indian manufactured toaster no longer works. So I gave it to our landlady and asked her to get it fixed for us and said we'd pay for it. She smiled and said, "I clean toaster. I not use it when you are gone."

"I know!" I tried to reassure her. "I just was wondering whether you could get it fixed for us and whether we could pay you?" I was starting to falter here. I had the distinct impression she thought I was accusing her of having made shed loads of toast while we were in Bali for five months and blamed her for the breakdown.

She smiled, took the toaster and disappeared inside. The toaster hasn't been mentioned again, and that was several days ago, so I suspect our current method of dry-frying bread in our saucepan is going to have to suffice for the next few months. Which is a shame of course because toast is one of our staples.

Isn't it funny how certain environments engender certain eating habits? At home, I might have peanut butter toast once in awhile, but here in India, the husband and I have it almost daily. And take beer for example. I despise the stuff. Always have, always will...or not it would seem. Since we've been away I've regularly consumed both Bintang (Indonesian) and Kingfisher (Indian) beer with the husband. So I blame him of course. But I wouldn't dream of ordering beer in a pub back in England (I draw the line at a half pint of Guinness now and again, but that's a totally different matter), or cracking open a cold beer in the heat. Gross. No way.

So why do I suddenly take to sipping it nightly with meals as if I've been a Pilsner Babe all my life?

The only thing I can think of, is that my particular surroundings are conducive to such brew-friendly behaviour. Everyone else on the beach seems to drink it (peer pressure is never a good excuse but I'm just saying...), and there are only so many fresh lime soda's a girl can drink in a day, and...well...it just seems like it would be wrong not to.

At any rate, Eggs and Dumpie appear to feel the same way - but in regards to mango juice and ice-creams. Egg bawled his eyes out for a good ten minutes last night because we passed the Baskin Robbins without stopping in for a chocolate chip mint cone. And Dumpie has taken to walking up to wait staff and simply ordering his own Maaza's (mango juice) if we deny him. Come to think of it, Egg does too.

Unfortunately the boys are so persuasive that the local shops give them ice creams when they wander in and tell them that their Mama and Dada will pay for them later, and then the husband and I are surprised to find that we have tabs running at various beach shacks. I hope this is not a sign of things to come.

Mind you, Dumpie is currently on an ice-cream ban after cutting my beloved earphones in half last night. I was SO angry that I banned him from ice-cream for the rest of the year. This morning the first thing he said to me was "I have ice-cream today Mama?"

I looked into his adorable, twinkling eyes, smiled, and said, "No way."

I will NOT cave in. I will not. (I won't. I think.)