. . . and then we played Jenga.

The other night, I was helping my friend move into an apartment. All the doors looked the same. We disassembled a large desk in her old apt. and moved it into the new one. Someone was cooking some delicious-smelling curry. We kept working, though. We were soon moving smaller items, such as loaves of bread. I ventured out by myself for the first time, into this maze of identical apartment doors. I walked a certain distance with my loaf of bread, and opened the apt. door. To my great embarrassment, it wasn't my friend's apt. It was the source of the delicious smelling curry. The (very friendly) Indian family had just finished their dinner, and graciously invited me in for leftovers. So I graciously accepted with joy in my heart and my tummy, and I partook of the curry over rice as they were having dessert. They all waited at the table while I ended the meal with a dessert of home made rice pudding with nutmeg and dates, and then we played Jenga.