Americans abroad

He came around the corner - or, his stomach came around the corner and the rest of him followed suit - an American abroad in India dragging his carry on behind him. Pasty white legs puffing out red with strain above the rims of too-tight black knee socks pulled up as close to the hem of his baggy shorts as possible, requisite Tevas strapped on his feet, he moved past me and spied the Subway sandwich shop. His eyes lit up with the recognition of something non-curried, non-rice, non-masala and I noticed that his head literally lurched forward suddenly as if trying to spur his hulking mass to move faster toward the intended target.

He slowed down just long enough to glance behind him, spying his Laura Bush look alike wife and bellowed in a perfect southern American accent, "Hey huhn?! These folks gots them a SUBWAY right here!"

His Laura, dressed in her best J.C. Penney travel suit with reddest red Mary Kay applied to lips and bluest blue applied to eyes bugging out in excitement beneath frosted bangs, hollered back with unrestrained joy, "Rights here in Delhi!? Well a'll be!" She then sped up her pace, flipping her flops noisily across the tiled floor and pulling at the hem of her elastic waistband in an attempt at getting it right up there under her bustline.

Rounding the corner to join her husband's stomach she brought her hands up to her face and wailed again, 'Well a'll be! Now doesn't that beat all? Looky there - a Subway in India!' her sentence trailing off into a reflection of shock and awe generally inspired by the seven wonders of the world and/or natural wonders/disasters.

They clasped hands momentarily before moving toward the deli counter together, feet in unison; the perfect harmony of a long-married couple fulfilling their common destiny. Soul mates in the pursuit of a hot turkey sub with extra-extra cheese, lots of mayo, foot long (each), with sodas, chips, and those horrid little dried out biscuits Subway calls cookies.

Once seated, and with a mouthful of food in mid-nosh, Laura gingerly touched her husband's shoulder and said quietly, all serious-like "I've just got to call Marilyn."
He nodded enthusiastically with a little sludge of lettuce and mayo dribbling down his chin as she dialed her Nokia with the flick of a wrist and took another bite while waiting for a connection...I imagined she was ringing through to New Hampshire or Texas (the Bible-Belt seemed much more likely given the blue eye shadow).

"Marilyn? Marilyn? Hmmmm??! Hallow? Hallow? Can you hear me now?!" she shouted across the ocean. "Marilyn, Marilyn, you're not going to believe this! I just knew I had to call you, I mean....blah blah blah....(all the reasons she thought it was important Miss Marilyn know about the Subway counter in Delhi, India) and we're eating them right now, in the airport!!"

I imagined Marilyn being impressed at least to a knee-slap at the faintest possibility India would have any clue about Subway and that her own shock and awe was followed by an intense question and answer period capped off with "Are there really camels and elephants in the streets?" which would naturally be followed by calls to all the other ladies in the quilting bee/tupperware party/coffee clutch/bowling league to be sure everyone was quite up to speed on the adventures of Laura and her husband's stomach in India.

I wonder if the same calls were made when they came across the gazillion McDonald's, Baskin-Robbins, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Domino's and Pizza Hut locations spread out all over the country.