Vol 44 It's the thought that counts.....

Lemme tell ya a little story. As I was preparing to move here I tried a few times (ok, I tried mercilessly) to convince my ex-husband, Lane, that giving me his iPod was a good idea. For some reason he did not think this was a good idea. Go figure.

6 months later I was talking to him and out of the blue he said “Hey, what’s your address? I’m gonna send you my iPod”. Sweet! Seems he wasn’t using it much anymore. He also offered to send a little gadget called a magicJack. You plug this thing into a USB port on your computer then plug a regular phone into it and Presto! You can make free long distance phone calls. It does require a high speed internet connection. “Cool” I said, because the Skype idea failed. We chatted for a while about my being single and how that kinda sucks. And we chatted about Jessica and Noel’s upcoming wedding, which I was bumming to miss.

1 ½ months later I get a notice that there is a package waiting for me at the post office so I went the following morning before work to try to pick it up. Couldn’t find the post office. It’s located in one of the more confusing parts of town. So the next day the newish dental assistant, Emie, and I went to pick it up as she knew where the post office was. I waited my turn in line and presented my slip to the turbaned Omani behind the counter. He asked for my labor card, charged me 3 rials and brought the package. “I open” he said. “Ok” I said.

So he opened the package and pulled out some packing paper. He held up the iPod. “What’s this?” he asked. “It’s an iPod” I replied. Blank stare. “For music”. “Ok” he says. Then he pulls out the magicJack and holds it up. “What’s this?” “It’s for the computer”. “Ok” he says. Then he holds up an item that was in one of those clear, molded plastic bubble packages. And printed on the paper insert is a beautiful, naked, blonde, boob-jobed model with red rings radiating from her groinal area. The item itself was ummm, purple and was made from molded latex and appeared to have some sort of ummm, battery housing. Now, I’m no expert, but I believe the radiating red circles on the photo were meant to indicate where this item was meant to be used. Ahem.

And he’s holding it up for all the world to see. I turned beet red and Emie spun on her heal and walked to the other side of the room in a move I interpreted to mean “I don’t know her”. The following conversation ensued with the post office dude speaking in a stern voice with no emotion showing on his face ever and me answering him from behind my hand:

“What’s this?” he asked. “I don’t know” I answered. “What’s it for?” he asked. “I don’t know” I answered. “Who sent you this?” he asked. “My husband” I answered. (No ex. Lane and I were immediately married again). “Why did he send you this?” he asked. “I don’t know” I said. Then again. “What’s this?” “I don’t know” “What’s it for?” “I don’t know” “Who sent you this?” “My husband” “Why did he send you this?” “I don’t know”. And again. And again. And the whole time he is holding the item up at chest level. Perhaps to intimidate me; which certainly worked. Finally, on the 5^th round of “What’s this? What’s it for?” when he asked “Why did he send you this” I answered “I think he wants me to be happy”. Blank stare. “Where is your husband?” he asked. “In the US” I answered, still from behind my hand, which seemed to be fused to my face. I was blushing so hard I thought I might have a stroke and I was trying to make myself as small as I could, hoping that I would slip into one of the cracks in the floor tiles. “And you are here? Working?” “Yes” I replied. “Where is your family?” he asked. “We have no children” I replied, trying to put a touch of sadness into my voice. Emie mustered some bravery and ventured back over toward me. “Why did he send you this?” he asked more firmly. “I don’t know” I said. “He loves me. Maybe he wants me to be happy”. Emie spun on her heal again and high-tailed it across the room.

He sighed. “He should not have sent this. It’s not allowed”. “Yes” I agreed. “You want this?” he asked. Hmmmm, what to answer here? I had figured out what the item was and to be honest, a girl gets lonely..... (God, I hope my father is not reading this). “Ummm,” I hedged, “he sent it to me, so I think he wants me to have it”. He sighed again. “You give me 5 rials”. I handed over the money, thinking maybe he was asking for a bribe. He then pulled out an ROP report and started filling it out. ROP. Royal Oman Police. Oh shit. He copied all of my info from my labor card onto the report. Stapled the report and the 5 rials to the item’s package, handed me a copy of the report and a receipt. “You want this, you go to the customs office behind the airport and talk to them”. He handed me the box with the iPod and the magicJack and I all but ran out of there.

All the way back to work Emie asked me “Why would your ex-husband send you this? Is he crazy? This is a Muslim country! Doesn’t he know they check the mail?” I told her that for 8 years it was Lane’s job to look after that aspect of my life and that he was just trying to be sweet. “Is he crazy? This is a Muslim country!”

One week later, I picked up my friend, Mahfoodh, from the airport. He was returning from the UK where he was visiting his fiancé. He picked up the ROP report from my dash and read it. “Ummmm,” he said, “what’s this?” I explained. He translated the Arabic for me. It states that I was sent an illegal, pornographic item. It describes it as a “sex toy/finger scratcher”. Then he laughed his ass off and assured me I wasn’t in trouble. He called his cousin, who works at the customs office behind the airport. A brief conversation in Arabic followed. His cousin laughed his ass off and then told him “there is no way we will ever give her that item. Is her husband crazy?”

Oh Lane, thank you so much for the iPod, and the 3749 songs you loaded onto it. I listen to it every day and I’m going to buy a converter so I can plug it into my car stereo. And thank you for the magicJack. I have made a couple of successful calls with it though, most of the time the connection is not very good. And truly, thank you for one of the most memorably embarrassing moments of my life. I laughed my ass off. If only you had taken it out of the package! I might have been able to pass it off as a neck massager.

It’s the thought that counts, right?