regarding the military and knitting.

[sigh]. Getting kicked out of a coffee shop that didn’t know how to make a properly foamed cappuccino could have left Rachel and me frost-bitten and hunched beside a garbage dumpster down a dark alley (a thought honestly contemplated) in Sioux City. Fortunately for Rachel’s idolatrous lust for wool and knitting needles, we stumbled upon a little shop decorated with $4 000 worth of IKEA merchandise and a motherly manager, who invited us in from the cold to read the “Stitch and Bitch” knitting book. Her husband came along and tried to recruit me into the military. This proposition, although kind of him, was hindered by two problems: I am not American and I am staunchly NOT Republican. Even so, they directed us to Rebo, a relaxed, properly ambienced restaurant, which was wonderfully conducive to a Heineken, a taco and a good conversation.
[aside: And speaking of Heineken, I realized tonight that I can only order beer in French or in British English, neither of which helped to clear up confusion between the waitress and myself when I asked for a pint. I learned, however, and can now order beer properly in 3 countries.]