At one point, we find ourselves shopping in the sort of glitzy shop (polished stones, Thai handicrafts) that caters to busloads of Japanese tourists. Anyone entering the store is assigned a “shadow” — a sales rep who hovers ten feet behind you. Pause at an item, and your shadow will rush forward, open it, and describe it in hushed tones, as though it were a religious relic.
My shadow is a pleasant older Thai woman in a starched business suit and ruffled blouse. She catches on quickly that I’m not going to buy any designer leather goods today, so she makes the most of a bad situation by converting my visit into an opportunity to practice her English conversation skills.
She points to Joe. “And who is this?”
“That’s my father-in-law,” I say.
“And where is your wife?” she asks.
“No wife,” I say.
She points to Clyde. “And who is this?”
I run my finger along the seams of a stitched leather purse. “My husband.”
Her eyes get big and round. “Your husband?”
I point to Joe and Clyde. “Father-in-law. Husband.” I nod. “Is this unusual in Thailand?”
She smiles. “Not unusual to be … just unusual to say!”
We chat several more minutes. By the time I leave, we’re the best of friends.
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