So I just got out of a boring iftar tomorrow night. Its at my parents' friends' crib. There's these group of paki families who live in the same neighborhood who throw potluck iftars for their circle. The circle was barely managemable at 4 families a few years ago but has now grown to about 8. I moved out of the 'hood about 2 years ago and there were no expectations on me to attend said festivities whilst single. However, as soon as I got married, and had child, expectations to attend have risen exponentially for this expatriat. I've successfully managed to attend 1 out of the 4 or 5 dinners thus far. These aunties are a cunning bunch. They plan for us. They take advantage of the fresh blood (my wife) thrown into this ever expanding circle by merely telling her: "You make that thing you make", referring to the foreign cuisine called boolaney of her native Afghanistan. Effectively pre-empting any counterstrike from the husband who has enough pull to decline invites as he has done successfully for years as The Bachelor. Basically, the signs are out there: "Oldmanville - Next Exit". However, I'm closing my eyes driving the fast lane. Uncles, aunties, outta my way! Darn it, Nuriya needs to pee, gotta look for a pit stop. "Oldmanville, Exits 10,11,12,13,14,15". I cannot escape.