You'd think buying hotdogs would be simple

Well six months in Russia have flown by. But how could they not when just going to the grocery store is an adventure in communication? Like the time I used fabric softener for weeks to wash my clothes until I finally noticed a little iron symbol on the bottle and had someone read it for me. Or the time I brought home some other kind of ground meat (twice) when I wanted ground beef. Then there was the time that the cashier got so fed up with me not being able to answer her that I think she just gave me some of the food for free. Or, on the flipside, the time the cashier detained my carton of perfect strawberries for some reason unbeknownst to me. And, last but not least, the time I spent 15 minutes reading a hotdog label with the dictionary on my phone just to make sure there was no gluten in them. In spite of all that, Moscow and I are beginning to understand each other. Maybe a little too much since I have learned to scowl with the best of them. And don't worry, my Russian (or at least pretending) has improved in that time period. I'm full of surprises. Sometimes I whip out random words like octopus, raccoon, and passion fruit. And I've got some good, standard phrases for everyday use. "I don't know." "I don't speak Russian" "I don't understand Russian." "I'm sorry." "What are you doing?" "What's that?"... Actually, now that I start to list them it isn't such a short list after all, especially since I spend almost all of my time with Americans. But I feel like the fact that I probably could list them all is still an indicator that my vocabulary could use some augmentation. Hmmm...  Well, it's a work in progress.

I'm not sayin'; I'm just sayin'.