But then, who doesn’t.
I’ve spent way too much time thinking about winter footwear in this country. Pictured above are the fifth and (half of) the fourth pairs of boots I’ve bought since moving to Mongolia. It will be a miracle if these guys last the rest of the winter. The fake leather is starting to flake off in ways I can no longer disguise with shoe polish. The Shoe Repair Guy, who is a chilly, inaccessible iceberg of a man, has seen me so often lately that he actually twisted up his mouth into a semblance of a smile the other day and begrudgingly asked, “So…what do you do?”
I mean, I guess it’s nice that I’m making friends with Shoe Repair Guy but THESE GODDAMNED BOOTS.
I’m going to stop myself before I write a treatise on overpriced crap Chinese-made boots, so if there are any incoming PC/Mongolia lady volunteers reading this, hear my cry: Consider bringing a pair or two of nice, high-quality, knee-high leather boots with you. They will save you a lot of grief, and a lot of tugriks.
Ryan came home from work on Monday and asked, “How was your real birthday?” I said, “It was okay. I took a nice picture of myself.” He said, “Well…I guess you deserve it.”
(I also bought myself a bottle of fish sauce)
This is what the courtyard looks like late at night, when you’ve just realized that you haven’t taken your daily photo yet.
This is what the refrigerator looks like late at night, when you’ve just realized you haven’t taken your daily photo yet, and you’ve already taken a picture of the courtyard.
This is us, having a moment of weakness on Thursday. Ryan was out at our weekly English Movie Night with the other volunteers; I was home, being sick. At around 8, he burst in the door with an insane gleam in his eyes. “What’s going on?” I asked. “There’s a puppy in the stairwell,” he said. “And I took a video of it!”
So we watched the video, and wrung our hands for a little bit, and had our usual conversation (“Can we bring it inside? We can’t bring it inside. That’s a bad idea. Maybe just for a little bit? No, we can’t”), except this time, we did not make the mature decision. Look how cute she is!
She did us the favor of acting like a total shithead right away, gnawing on our heels and tearing at our rug and barking at us. “Oh right!” we said. “We just remembered: You can’t stay here.”
So we made her a plate of rice and milk and took her outside. “So long, Shithead,” we said. Ten minutes later, she somehow made her way back inside the stairwell and showed up at our door. So Ryan took her outside again. And we haven’t seen her since. Good luck out there, Shithead!
The sun comes up at about 8:40 these days. Which makes it easier to sleep in on the weekends, at least.
Here: Evidence that I went outside. I think I should limit myself to one “livestock in the city” shot per week. Please hold me to this.
I’m going to try some sneaky shooting from the hip this year. Mostly because I still can’t get up the courage to ask the really cool-looking old timers for a photo.