The cashier at International Foods and Spices is so beautiful it disarms me. Almost like an android, her paper-plastic perfection, symmetry. I am intimidated from telling her the truth when she suggests next time I call ahead for such a large order of samosas. The truth is I was anxious about calling because how would I explain what I wanted without a menu in front of me, or know that what I was ordering would be confirmed. I am so used to internet orders with duplicates of confirmations and binding orders unless I am there in person face to face and then I can’t even tell the truth. But she took my order of 50 samosas anyway and promised they’d be ready in 15 minutes, did not offer me a phone number. Almost to the second, 15 minutes later, a colleague came down the stairs from a kitchen above the store and brought the samosas in a large tray to my car, offering to help me because you have a kid—with one extra just for you, she said and twinkled at me, not my son. I know what this is like. I wrangled my son, who while waiting for the order to be completed was so out of control I finally locked him to my hip and walked through the store. We made up a game in the rice displays. Examining stacks of bagged rice, identifying lions and elephants, mascots for the brands. I didn’t dare ask him to identify all of the beautiful women illustrated in relief, afraid none would be mother.