Remind me to tell you the one about my 16-year-old car being officially unsellable because the guy who sold it to me and subsequently moved to the UAE failed to take care of a few things before passing the car on.
Follow that with the one about the young Army soldier/history teacher who rode between my kids' car seats hoping to extort money from me because I made a wrong turn, or the one about nearly being nearly arrested for not surrendering my license.
Follow that with the one where we visited a nearby hospital because Svetlana had a passing kidney stone and the hospital neglected to tell us about another infection and watching Svetlana, post-treatment, get the big boss of the hospital, a man who perceived us to be beneath him and who had the balls to put up his hand to try to silence a Russian woman, to apologize.
Follow that with the one about barehanded octopus hunting in the Indian Ocean or Santa giving my daughter a ride on his donkey along a white sand beach.
Follow that with the one where I witnessed passionate slug sex on the outskirts of my French doors.
Follow that with monkeys invading our holiday self-catering flat near the beach,the owners telling us they had never seen such a mess, that it would take the cleaning lady hours to sort everything out, and us turning around and saying that actually the monkeys had hardly created any mess because, outside of the pee on the floor, we had done it.
Follow that with the one about stealing pineapples from Del Monte or the one where I told a roomful of copywriters that their detergent ads were outdated and sexist.
Follow that with my daughter singing songs in Chinese, Swahili, Russian and English.
Follow that with the one about going to South Africa for three days to get my teaching license and getting drunk on wine both nights before my exams with one of the country's most lauded architects and his boyfriend.
Follow that with our visa run to Ethiopia where both of our kids got sick, we visited an active Orthodox, underground church built into rock guided by a kind, celibate deacon, to visit a random house along the road made out of dung and occupied by mostly children, and I came face-to-face with Lucy, our 3.2 million-year-old ancestor.
Follow that with my first cheesecake I ever made for my wife's birthday that tasted like the most-hated cake in her life.
Follow that with Svetlana and I dressing up like clowns for Crystal's birthday the night after we stayed up until 2 AM making what we thought was the worst birthday carrot cake in history.
Follow that with riding along the bumpiest, craziest road known to man, with Svetlana trying desperately to keep her nipple in our son's mouth, with my mother-in-law and brother-in-law to see wild game live and in the (half-eaten, faceless) flesh.
Follow that with riding on a motorcycle with our daughter through coffee and macadamia nut plantation fields.
Follow that with Crystal and I riding on the backs of ostrich's during my birthday weekend.
Follow that with being called a racist by a drunk lawyer after hanging out with one of the country's biggest TV stars.
Follow that with two failed local theatre projects but another successful J. Lasky Production in New York City that led to publication.
Follow that with starting 2016 in the Arctic Circle in Russia and ending it about two hours from the equator, and it's actually a few Russians living in Kenya who have helped us get through this wild, unpredictable time.