Confirmed Third Worlder

      19/6/2021       Next-->

I tried hard to morph from a Third Worlder into a First Worlder ....
The greatest stumbling block has been the zip lock bags..

When in Zimbabwe the zip lock bags are carefully washed, rinsed and hung on the line to dry, especially those cute ones with a real zip in them...but in the USA they are casually tossed in the bin....
I still smart when I don't reuse them, it's ingrained into a Zimbo's very soul!!

However I cannot, cannot leave the car running at the supermarket while I pop inside the store. How daft would that be in Zim
Haha the car would be gone in a flash but there is also the moral aspect - the noxious fumes that pollute the atmosphere are just untenable, but fortunately most American don't do that any more..

Sweden was adamant about bringing one's own shopping bags to the shops, scorching looks would be bestowed upon transgressors, the USA has recycling bins everywhere for ones grocery bags, they use paper bags liberally too, but there is no prohibiting factor yet in the Third World, life is hard enough when you have to walk 30 km to a store!!

I have at last summoned the courage to drive in the USA!! Its only taken me seventy years.. they drive on the wrong side of the road after all, but I pray I have at last mastered the art. I am very cognisant of the fact that First Worlders give pedestrians a wide courteous berth on the road, whilst in some countries its fair game for the motorists to try and clip you with their wing mirrors.

Wash days always hurt. Third Worlders always line-dry their washing, albeit sometimes one has to spread one's clothing over a bush in more rural areas, but I have yet to come across a home in the USA with a clothes line!! Aah we have one thing over the First Worlders !! They will never know the smell of a sheet that has been sun dried and ironed!! Somehow a tumble dried pillowcase just does not have the same feel....

Of course the very best thing about the First World is the road courtesy. Yesterday we noticed what we thought was a funeral procession. Eleven cars were slowly creeping up the hill outside our place, and then we spotted right at the front, a tiny wee girlie on her bicycle. Mom was guarding her closely in the car behind her, and every single car was patiently crawling up the hill waiting for her to reach the her home where she would turn off, before attempting to pass her.

I guess I could get used to this!