(Nineteenth of a Series of 26)

As Tricia went off to test her bargaining skills at an Egyptian flea market, the tour guide and I duck into a café. It was shortly after noon, and the sun was hot. The café was not air conditioned. I had several cans of apple juice just to keep hydrated. Forgetting about the Ramadan fast, I offered to get something for the tour guide. And we talked rather uneventfully.

I estimate that the waiter was about 40 years old. He probably owned the café; I never cared enough to ask. I did notice some added enthusiasm when he waited on an Australian party of eight that he did not display toward me.

When Tricia returned after her shopping spree, the waiter began to show more interest in my table. Somewhat overheated, Tricia sprayed her face with a mister. The waiter asked that his face be sprayed, and Tricia obliged though she declined his request to mist his underarms.

The waiter turned to me, and asked if Tricia was my baby (pronounced beebee). When I acknowledged she was, he disclosed he could tell by our eyes. Never mind that she is my stepdaughter. He then made me an offer of two million camels for her.

If he was serious, then I acted inappropriately. I gave the offer some thought. Two million camels is a very generous dowry. I could do a lot with all those camels. Sure, I would have to get them through customs some how. And I'd probably need to expand my back yard. And then there's the matter of breaking the news to my wife that I'd need extra room in the car when she picked me up at the airport.

But two million camels....

He wasn't finished. He proceeded to tell me how great a husband he would be. He flexed his arm to show me his muscles, but somehow I wasn't impressed. He assured me he was in top physical condition. He was "strong." He was "powerful." And he walked away after his claim of "no Viagra."

Two million camels.... Hmmmm.

[Tory's reply: "You should have counter-offered 100 camels for a single date."]