It's like living in the Bronx!

The last two weeks, I have been suffering a pretty harsh case of bronchitis. And even though I am happy to say I am now the proud owner of a Moroccan National Insurance Card, I hesitate to use it. Something about the thought of third world medicinal practices just doesn't instill confidence.

Case in point: A couple days ago the woman who lives above me shouted down from her window to talk to me. (Side note: There's something akin to an empty elevator shaft in our house, that bottoms out in my foyer. I can stand inside my place and look straight up to the roof of the three stories, and when it rains, I can stand inside and get soaked. Anyway, the window of the second-floor apartment opens onto the inside of the elevator shaft thingie, so the woman upstairs can sit inside her place and talk to me when I'm inside my place. It's a bit odd. End side note.) Apparently she had been listening to days and days of me hacking up my lungs and felt sorry for me, so she wanted to tell me about the Moroccan cure for a cough. Heated olive oil in a spoon. Now I like olive oil as much as the next person, but I ain't about to eat it from a spoon. Olive oil is best enjoyed with balsamic vinegar and copious amounts of Macaroni Grill bread. Yummy.

Two days and a bottle of cough syrup later, I am still coughing, but at least the nasty blood part has stopped. Yay for western medicine!!