Parents Day 21

Thursday

Today was the Fulbright end-of-year reception at the US Embassy, so while Mom and Dad took off for some museums, my buddy and former-Fulbrighter Craig rolled up in his awful little Volvo and I climbed in with my uniform bag and a change of socks and we headed out on our merry three-hour road trip. We stopped at petrol stations as necessary, Craig consuming some of my Starbursts for the first time ever (he didn’t like them) and me consuming a Cadbury cherry bar for the first time ever (I didn’t like it).

We arrived full of sugar. Craig’s parents’ house is beautiful, buried in one of the long back avenues of leafy Canberra. His dad, who is restoring a few old Melbourne cable cars in the back yard, fed us Jaffles: cheese and tomato sandwiches grilled in little pockets of bread.

Craig dropped me at the Embassy, and the security guys, who were bored, watched his little Volvo narrowly until he drove away. Then they marched me through security no less than four times (“it must be the shoes,” they concluded eventually, but didn’t ask me to take them off). I got my new military ID made without a hitch, and Craig retrieved me—took me back to his place—I changed into uniform and he into a suit—and we were back at the Embassy.

This time the security guards knew me and waved me through (“You came back! Nice uniform!”) but they halted Craig and made him go through the security check a few times. They were still bored.

Anyway we mingled at the Ambassador’s place, and had tasty little snacks and wine for a few hours. Craig and I had been looking forward to nightlife, afterward, but we noted with disappointment that most of the attendees were, unexpectedly, over forty. So we went out, just the two of us, had some delicious lamb and extremely fancy cocktails at a julep bar. Walking home, we were staring up at the sky and trying to name the constellations. I took off my shoes, which had been hurting me, and while we stood in the grass, I felt something run up my leg. Then I felt something else run up my leg. Then several more, and then all the ants starting biting. The smell of formic acid filled the air. I ran, shedding bits of clothing and screaming, all the way back to Craig’s, hurling myself into the shower as the entire ant colony wreaked merciless havoc on my poor delicate skin. One of the ants bit me on the back of the hand, and it turned purple and swelled up. I am writing this three weeks later. I have a permanent scar.