Haven’t read Part 1? Check it out here!

Well, finally, we got to Fred Meyer! The plan was to get the tomatoes and get out in 15 minutes. Fortunately, that part went according to plan.

And then it all went downhill from there. We headed to the nearest bus stop, tried to decipher which bus we’d need to take next, and got on it when it arrived.

As you’ve probably already guessed, it turned out to be the WRONG bus.

So, we let the driver know, and he told us he would turn around in a bit after a short break.

So the driver got to the end of his route and stopped the bus, coming on back to sit and chat with us for a good 15 minutes or so. Coincidentally, the bus driver was Indian, while we’re Pakistani, so we get to chatting about our families – as South Asians do – and being unfamiliar with the area.

The story comes out that we went out to get tomatoes so I could make chicken handi, and the driver cracked a joke about inviting himself to dinner. Good times.

Well, eventually, the driver dropped us off not too far from my cousin’s house, gave us directions, and went on his merry way.

We have our Google Maps on and off we go!

If only it was that easy. After several minutes pass by, we realize we’ve been walking in the wrong direction.

At this point, we are EXHAUSTED – we’ve been walking for a while, and decide we’ll just call an Uber. We’re talking to the other aunt and still not figuring out where we need to go, though the aunt is now adamant that she’ll come out and find us, but Aunt Lucy manages to get her to stay so that when we eventually find our way back home, we won’t be locked out.

Anyway, we were now set on getting an Uber. But we’re on a busy road, so we need to walk a ways till we can actually send for one. After a good walk, we finally get to the parking lot of the nearest building, and I immediately put in a request for an Uber. He should be here in three minutes. No problem.

He’s so close…and he missed us. Aunt Lucy and I stare at my phone in disbelief, watching our Uber pass us by, then turn around, come back…and pass us by again on the map. This continues to happen for another 10 minutes or so. I look at my aunt and say, “Well, you’re Lucy, I’m Lucy Jr… when we’re left alone, something like this was bound to happen!”

Eventually, somehow, our Uber driver finally figures it out and picks us up.

Gratefully, we get in, explaining that our destination isn’t far, but it’s taking us forever to get there because Google Maps just doesn’t seem to be working for us today. As it turns out, neither is the Uber driver’s GPS – hence why he kept going around in circles before finally picking us up.

Anyway, he takes us back to my aunt’s house. It’s such a short trip, a mere six minutes, but felt so far away on foot. Aunt Lucy and I walk in, exhausted. We left the house at noon; it’s now 4 in the afternoon. Yes, it took us four hours…to get four tomatoes! I can’t make this up.

My aunts insisted I take some rest after this whole ordeal, but I persisted – I’d gone out for this chicken handi, and I was going to make it that day no matter what! I told them, “Even if it doesn’t turn out good, say it is anyway.”

So, I got to work. The chicken handi was done shortly, and everyone loved it. When my cousin and his wife arrived home in the evening, we gathered around to tell our story. But as soon as Aunt Lucy says, “tomatoes,” my cousin is beside himself.

“Tomatoes?” He repeats incredulously. “Tomatoes? I got some last night – there’s a whole bag full in the fridge!”

Yes, it turns out that this bag of tomatoes had escaped our notice when my aunts and I were figuring out what we needed for the handi. I’m still not sure how that happened, but it happened.

So, that’s my story. It took me and my aunt four hours to get four tomatoes…and at the end of the day, it turned out there were tomatoes in the house the whole time.

Did I mention I was newly engaged at the time and my fiancé was also in Seattle for a couple of months? He figured out pretty quickly after that, that this kind of thing would be unbelievable for pretty much anyone else – except me. Well, he’s stuck with me now. These things keep life interesting!

This is a story you may not believe unless you know me in person and my penchant for getting into odd situations. In fact, I get this trait from my mother’s elder sister. My aunt is so well-known for getting herself into strange situations that her nickname is “Lucy.” As in, I Love Lucy.

Now, put us together and what do you get? This epic failure of a grocery shopping trip.

It all started when my Aunt Lucy and I had both arrived in Seattle to spend some time with my other mom’s sister, who had just been widowed. Neither of us was familiar with the area, as I was coming from Florida and Aunt Lucy from Indiana.

My mother sent me off to Seattle with explicit instructions to treat my aunts well and keep them both as happy as I could, along with the command to cook for them at least once.

So what happens my first full day in Seattle? My mother calls my aunts in the morning and immediately begins to rave about my ability to make chicken handi – pretty much the only Pakistani dish I knew how to make at the time.

Of course, I didn’t mind – I’d just need chicken, onions, tomatoes, a little plain yogurt, and an assortment of spices. Except…we were all out of tomatoes.

Since we didn’t have access to a car, we’d have to take the bus. My experience with public transportation was practically negligible, but Aunt Lucy was ready to go with me to the nearby Fred Meyer while my younger aunt was going to stay home, relax and pray.

And so, we set off to get the tomatoes. How hard would it be, after all? I only needed four, and the bus would pick us up close to my aunt’s home.

Or it would have, if Aunt Lucy and I had arrived in time. We missed our bus and proceeded to walk toward its next stop, where we finally got on. I relied on Google Maps and my younger aunt’s directions to figure out where we’d need to get off – not the best idea, mind you, since I have always been terrible with directions, but I had Aunt Lucy with me. It’d be fine.

Except, of course, we missed the correct stop. We got off at the next one, and then proceeded to walk around in circles while Google Maps attempted to reroute us. Eventually, Aunt Lucy asked a group of teenagers for directions, and we were on our way.

Finally, finally, we’d found Fred Meyer! And it had only taken us an hour… to find a grocery store that was only 15 minutes away by bus. And this story is only getting started.

Here’s something I’ll never forget. It was just a couple of days before my nikkah (Islamic and legal marriage contract ceremony) and I sat in a comfortable salon chair, being transformed into a character from a Japanese horror movie.

Let’s rewind a bit, shall we? I enjoy applying makeup and think I have a pretty good idea of what looks good on me. The makeup artist I originally wanted wasn’t available the day of my nikkah. No biggie. I’d do it myself.

My mom and future MIL, however, insisted I get a professional. The salon I was going to for my hair had just hired a licensed MUA, so it must have been fated, right?

I agreed, but insisted on a trial first, being unfamiliar with this particular makeup artist and her work. So, two days before my nikkah, my mom, sister and I went to the salon. While I got my makeup trial, my mom and sister had their manicures done.

The minute I sat down in the chair, I asked the MUA – let’s call her Tina – if I could see her portfolio. Nonchalantly, she replied, “Oh, I don’t have one! I’m so busy I forget to take photos, and I’ve been meaning to make one online but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

Okay. Red flag, but she seemed sweet and kept talking about all these commercials and stuff she’s done, and she was licensed, so she must have gone to cosmetology school at some point. I gave her a chance. I showed her a photo of the kind of look I wanted, something similar to this:

I made it very clear I wanted a pink smoky eye (my outfit was a baby pink) and she got to work mixing my foundation shade. It took her a good 5-10 minutes to do this, but that was fine – I’m South Asian, I’m used to taking some time to figure out my shade.

I’m sitting there, letting this woman put makeup on my face, praying for it to go well. But I’m not feeling it – I haven’t even seen her work, so how do I know she knows what she’s doing?

Well, after a painfully long time, she finally announced she was done and took a step back. I took a look in the mirror, and just went, um…

Remember the scene in FRIENDS when Ross does Rachel’s makeup because of her injured hand? Yeah, Ross did a better job than that makeup artist.

Despite the fact that I’d specified a pink smoky eye, she’d done purple eyeshadow all the way up to my eyebrows. The foundation was way too pale for me. The blush was a garish pink, applied in big splotches on my cheeks in a way I never apply blush. But the cherry on top was my eyelashes.

Or lack thereof. See, thanks to good lash genes and castor oil, I have pretty long eyelashes, so I never thought it was possible to make them disappear, but this woman managed it.

How? By applying mascara, then liberally powdering my face right after. Twice. The result was that my lashes had been turned white, rendering them impossible to see against the purple eyeshadow.

To say I looked awful would be an understatement, yet I also thought, well, maybe it only looks this bad to me because I know how I do my own makeup.

The tragedy that was my made-up face was confirmed when my mom and sister stepped into the room. I have never seen my mom look so shocked before; her mouth literally fell open and her eyes widened as she stared at me in disbelief and shook her head. My sister was equally distressed.

Fortunately, I got what I wanted in the end – I did my own makeup, and for at least a week after, my mom would say, “Thank God you did your own makeup!”

Thank God indeed, or I would’ve looked like the Joker’s bride.