The grocery store was closed in the middle of the afternoon yesterday because the guys from the power company were doing something in the road, and the generator wasn't on because everybody who knows how to run it had gone off to eat lunch. Such is Zambia.
This gave me a chance to mill around outside the store with everybody else, and I finally met the Irish priest who has a mission a ways north of here. This is another nice thing about being the only white people around; I figured he was Father Ned because he was an older-looking guy with messy hair. Imagine picking somebody out of a crowd in America based on that description.
Since we're packing up to move the PC house, I brought home an abandoned package of margarita mix. Paired with some (ridiculously expensive) tequila from Shoprite, I had my first real margarita in many, many months. Delicious. If I say I'm already looking forward to tonight's, does that mean I have a problem?