My father-in-law lives on a farm out in the Brazilian countryside. I didn’t grow up in the country and have always been careful around any creepy crawlies in case they have a nasty surprise. As you can imagine, when visiting the farm, there is a good mix of insects, spiders, snakes, and even scorpions to be aware of.

I am playing with my five-month-old son in the front room when I look up and see a spider about the size of my hand crawling up the sofa about a metre away. I grab the baby and go and find my husband (the native).

Me: “[Husband], there is a giant spider on the sofa, can you have a look and see if it is safe or not?”

Husband: “Oh, [My Name], it can’t be that bad.”

It should be said, I am not afraid of spiders or things like that, and have never exaggerated about one in my life. He gets up to have a look and immediately swears loudly. This attracts the attention of one of the housekeepers there, who immediately runs off to grab the bug spray once she has caught a glimpse of it.

Me: “So… that’s a bad one, huh?”

Husband: “Ah, it would give you a nasty bite, but probably wouldn’t kill you.”

Me: *Still holding my son.* “And the baby?”

Husband: *After a few seconds.* “It might kill the baby, yeah.”

Welcome to the tropics!

My uncle is a pilot and used to fly a lot of small planes. A few years ago, he and a friend decided to fly to the USA together in a one-engine plane. However, they decided to do this in January, and while it is the Brazilian summer, it is rather wet.

As they get to the north of Brazil, they find themselves surrounded by thunder clouds, and their little engine is soon straining under the amount of water being thrown at it. They need a place to land and fast.

Eventually, they manage to land at the military base near the most northerly town in Brazil, near the French Guiana border. There were four sergeants to greet them, looking a bit ridiculous in their t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops. After some chit chat, my uncle gets to the point.

Uncle: “So, sirs, when do you think we can fly out of here?”

Sergeant: “Well, do you know the difference between winter and summer up here?”

Uncle: “Um, no.”

Sergeant: “Well, in winter it rains every day, in summer, it rains all day!”

My uncle gives a grunt of laughter, thinking the Sergeant is exaggerating, while the officers cackle with this clearly traditional line used with the oblivious southern.

Five days later, still grounded because of the non-stop rain, my uncle is forced to concede that the Sergeant did, in fact, have a point.

I’m singing Old MacDonald which is a nursery rhyme with farm animals and their sounds. My husband is joining the kids and me for the first time, and I pause to let him choose the animal.

Me: “And on that farm he had a…”

Husband: “Soybeans.”

Me: “Soybeans!?”

Husband: “My grandad owns a farm, and he grows soybeans; he should have them in the song.”

Me: “Soybeans don’t make a noise, you need something that makes a noise. What noise would soybeans make?”

Husband: *After thinking for a second.* “Whoosh?”

And so, with a whoosh whoosh here and a whoosh whoosh there, we had a new verse for the song.

I’m on a flight back from Brazil to the US. Four visibly intoxicated Americans get on, including one sitting next to me and my wife in the exit row. I drew the short straw, so l got the middle, putting me next to this giant American Flag T-shirt-wearing dude. As soon as they sit down, the flight attendant gives this dude two whiskeys and moves on her way.

Drunk Guy: “You’re my seat buddy, huh? Heh, you look like a good listener.”

Oh no. We take off. I put my headphones in, close my eyes. It doesn’t matter. He’s LOUD. He’s talking to his friends across the aisle, talking at me, talking to himself…

Drunk Guy: “Can you believe this f****** country?! They wouldn’t let us in! They’re sending us right the f*** back!”

Gee, I wonder why? Ten minutes later, the flight attendant was walking by again. She gives him ANOTHER whiskey.

Me: “Maybe you should slow down, man.”

Drunk Guy: “I’m fine! I can handle it!”

He laughs and elbows me like we’re old war buddies. I try to lean away and pretend to sleep. No use. He’s chucking pretzels at his friends and yelling half the conversation across the row.

Drunk Guy: “Hey! Hey, Bill! We shoulda f****** gone to Cancún?!”

Bill: *Two rows up.* “Dude! Keep it down!”

Drunk Guy: “Yeah, Mexico! They love us there!”

Half an hour later came the slurs. Loud, sloppy, ugly things about Latin people. My wife looks at me, horrified. I look around for a flight attendant; she’s walking past again, handing him ANOTHER whiskey.

By the time we start descending, the guy’s had at least twelve whiskeys.

When the plane lands and the seatbelt sign is off, he tries to stand and nearly takes me with him. His friends are no better, bumping into every row, apologizing to no one. He sees everyone looking at him with various levels of disapproval. 

Drunk Guy: “I guess I was the in-flight entertainment! Ha!”

He laughs, slaps my shoulder again, and stumbles off the plane. We decided to sit in our seat a few minutes longer to give ourselves some distance between us and THEM, but it was all for nothing, as when we got off the plane the first thing we saw was all four guys standing around each other, my seat buddy emptying the contents of his stomach into a trash can, with airport security about to do something about them…

It’s the night before my husband’s sister’s fifteenth birthday party (the big one here), so the house is packed and everyone has been preparing for tomorrow. As such, we decide to order burgers, and my husband sorts out the order.

Me: “So are you going to pick it up or is it delivery?”

Husband: “Delivery, look at the size of the order we’ve ordered for [starts listing people].”

Me: *After about eight people.* “And [Sister]?”

Husband: *Crickets.*

Me: “You did remember to order for [Sister], right? The whole reason people are here?”

Husband: *Runs towards the kitchen.* “Mum!”

It was all sorted, and we had enough food for everyone, but really?