My husband is back from Texas, jet-lagged. He arrives at 9am, but his body thinks it is 3am. I ask him how his week was and he tells me what he ate every night (he has a photo of himself eating a burger as big as his head). He says he isn’t tired, then falls asleep for 3 hours.
He takes me out for lunch, to a local Turkish restaurant. We try to catch up on a week’s worth of chatting and arguing. After a beer and a meal, he has forgotten how to ask for the – what is it? the square thing? He draws a square shape in the air to the Turkish waiter, who helpfully tries to guess
‘You want the dessert menu? The address of the restaurant?’
For some reason, he now decides to speak French
‘L’addition,’ he says, ‘you know, the cheque. What is it in English? The bill. The bill, please!’
His week in America has very much confused him, it seems.