I think I'm an American until...

...I'm placing something in the oven and I still stop and think about whether or not I'll have enough butagaz in the tank to cook the meal (and then I get really excited when I remember that it's piped into my house now, ilhumdulelah)...

...I feel like I'm running around in my underwear when I work out (due to the acceptable workout attire in this country...and mine's not even bad!)...

...I find myself not washing dishes but just rinsing until it looks clean enough (this used to drive me crazy in the Middle East and now I do it all the time...don't judge, it saves soap and is it really that dirty anyway?)...

...I have an Arabic and/or Tarifit conversation with my sister, just for fun (apparently not all American sisters do this)...

...I realize how un-American it is for me to want to live with all my family members in one big farming commune (like my friend Warda and her family in Morocco)...

...I remember that I prefer walking over driving any day (although if I walked everywhere in this humongous city I would never get anywhere)...

...I buy body wax and remember how much I love it (all of you Arabized girls should understand this...and what's the big deal with razors anyway?)...

...I find myself practicing Arabic vocabulary as I push the grocery cart around the store (I know people think I'm crazy but I don't care)...

...my neighbors come over and can't believe that we own a hookah (which I don't think I ever heard it called a hookah while living overseas) but for some reason it never crossed our minds that we might be considered a little "wild" simply for owning one of the most common household items from the Middle East...