My daughter wrote a blog post last month listing five things she liked and five things she didn’t like about Mexico. By her own admission, she had to stretch to come up with the five things she didn’t like. 

Not me. I know exactly what I don’t like. Five is easy.

Mexican lasagna noodles that don’t use some very basic Spanish on the packaging (or better yet a picture) to warn me that they are “no-cook” noodles.

Bumps or cracks in the public sidewalks that cause people wearing flip flops to trip and/or stub their toes on a daily basis. I hesitated including this one since I really like all the trees along the sidewalks that cause the bumps and cracks. But that was before I tripped when walking to the store to buy the wrong lasagna noodles. 

A walk which reminded me that I also don’t like the wires that you too often see hanging down on the sidewalks that probably aren’t, but just might be, live. Truth or dare, anyone?

The rolling “r.” I sound like I’m bringing up my dinner every time I try to get it right. I’m also not too fond of fellow expats who seem to do it effortlessly.

Restaurants that don’t have child play areas. The ones that do are at the very top of my “like” list. But the ones that don’t ... well, that usually means I’m eating dinner between a four-year-old and a one-year-old. And nobody likes beans in their hair.

That’s five, but I’m on a roll and can’t seem to stop.

Rats. I don’t like rats anywhere. Not that I’ve seen many here, but I have seen one – in a vacant lot that I pass every day on the way to my grandson’s pre-school. And I’ve seen that one rat on five different occasions. Which is more than enough to make this musophobiac put it on her list. 

The use of commas in place of periods as decimal points. This gets me every time I go to the store. I’ll find bags of potting soil with 4,5 kg and stand in the aisle for 15 minutes picking up each bag trying to find the heavy ones that have the 5 kg.

Window washers who wash my windows even after I say “no,” and who walk away with a smile and a wave when finished, not expecting a tip. This just makes me feel bad.

Window washers who wash my windows even after I say “no,” who do expect a tip.

Parking lot attendants who stand behind my car directing me out of my parking spot. I’m pretty sure I could get out of the spot on my own. I’m never quite as sure that I can get out of it without hitting the man behind my car.

I’d keep going, but I really need to go to the store and buy some lasagna noodles.