half-shelled peas

The most important thing I learned on my last trip to America is that I don’t like Taylor Swift. Really don’t like. I’d say hate, but then I’d be devoting too much energy to the whole project. Anyway, of the 6 or 7 songs being overplayed on American radio last month, one of the favorites was Taylor Swift’s song about the careless careful dude’s waitress daughter, or some such. And boy does that song suck. And worse was Taylor Swift’s squealing. My daughter didn't appreciate my imitation. I’m sorry.

One of the more remarkable experiences I had was at a nice leather goods store, where my 12-year old son was actually helping me pick out a purse. The saleswoman came over, all agush! It turns out my son is the spitting image of Justin Bieber. He is so adorable he should be a model. She was going to tell her niece all about him. Seriously. I have to say we non-residents are just not used to so much friendliness. I know it’s completely normal and even natural to American ladies, but my son, while half-smiling, was also completely shell-shocked.