Tuscan Chicken Pasta

It is Sunday afternoon, and my wonderful husband is working hard on a paper for his Master's class.  I decide to go to the Commissary (That is the grocery store on base) to get the week's groceries.  My wonderful husband had requested a new recipe for dinner, Tuscan Chicken Pasta, that required several exotic ingredients that I was worried about finding on-base.  I leave the apartment, go back for the keys, and then head to Base.  I pass through the gate, showing my ID.   Once at the Commissary, I showed my ID AND my Rations card to the door gal, bowed, and dropped my purse into a cart to begin my shopping.  You would think a hurricane was coming based on the amount of people here.  I figured I wasn't in a hurry, and pressed on semi-cheerful.  My sunny disposition turned gloomy when I learned it was take your screaming kids to the store day.  UGH.  I then discovered they were out of the chicken breast needed for the Tuscan Chicken and they did not seem to carry cannellini beans either.   So, I am dodging banshee children and trying to figure out what I could use in place of chicken and cannellini beans.  I'm worried as CHICKEN is in the title of the recipe, so I'm pretty sure my wonderful husband will figure out I bastardized the recipe if I used something else.  I stop by the gal that gives out samples of sushi and bow as I take what she offers.  It's very good and I then see salmon is on sale.  I decide Tuscan Salmon Pasta has a nice ring to it.  I finish shopping, and get in line at the cashier feeling triumphant despite the hurdles of the day.  I show my ID AND Rations card again, pay, and bow to the fella that loads my groceries into the car.  Once parked in the garage at home, I begin hauling my groceries up the three stories of marble stairs.  Just as wonder why it smells weird, I slip on the wet floor.  

"SONOFABISCUIT" I screech, but managed to catch myself before I fall all the way down.  I collect myself, and notice the Korean man holding the mop.  He looks petrified, but bows and greets me in Korean.  Fantastic.  I greet him in Korean, and attempt to bow.  I carefully continue up the remaining stairs, key in our code, open the door, and put the bags down in the shoe room.  I go back down to get the remaining bags.  The Korean man is mopping away, and I smile when he stops.  He ask me if I will be coming back up (I think) and I indicate one more trip.  I hear the door open upstairs and smile because I know my wonderful husband is coming to help.  I slowly stack the groceries in my arms, and I can hear my wonderful husband talking to the Korean man, which makes me think that the man must be a landlord. Fantastic.  What a great impression.

I round the corner and my wonderful husband is there to assist, and explains the landlord will be coming up to look at the light that isn't working despite the bulb being replaced.  We both slip and slide up the stairs with the landlord at our heels.  Once inside, my wonderful husband explains the light isn't working, and we show him the new package of light bulbs in an effort to illustrate we have changed the light bulb.  I'm confused as this exact scene played out about two weeks ago, but I don't say anything.  For one,  I'm thinking this landord wants to point out the shacks around us.  Second, I do not know how to translate what it is I would like to ask him...yet.

The landlord says about three sentences in Korean, and then says 'tomorrow', points to his watch and says 'same, same'

We both thank him and he bows and leaves the apartment with the light bulb.  Hmph.  I guess I will be sure I'm home tomorrow at the same time, and look-up some Korean phrases regarding electricity.

I begin putting the groceries away, and my wonderful husband seems to think it's Christmas.  He begins rummaging through each bag as if it may hold the new puppy he asked for.  I try to explain the frustrating trip to the Commissary and how they didn't have the items needed, and I almost broke my neck while hauling everything upstairs, not to mention scaring the petunias out of the landlord.  I start to ask why we just had the same conversation with the landlord when I noticed my wonderful husband is still man-handling the groceries, and found the cookies I bought.  So, despite the small cramped kitchen and large frustrated wife that was trying to put things away, he breaks open the package with glee and snacks on the cookies.

"New Rule!  Either you get OUT of the kitchen, or you help me put this stuff away!"

I marvel at the fact that living in Korea is turning me into my mother, and put the cheese on the open refrigerator door.  My wonderful husband thinks this statement is the funniest thing he has ever heard.  He leans into the refrigerator, pulls out a beer and pops it open for me.  Remarkable.  He can hardly contain his giggles at this point despite his life flashing before his eyes. The cheese falls off the door, and I fling it at him. He also 'helps put away' a head of cauliflower, a red pepper, and a bag of spinach.  

Domestic Bliss at it's finest.