That's it, I surrender. I completely surrender, I am totally culture shocked. I'm going to sit in a corner and gibber now.
It's all because I wanted to make something nice for people. I've been doing a flurry of baking: bread, cookies, crepes, multiple pies, truffles, apple butter, whatever struck my fancy. I even made the infamous egg nog (which tastes surprisingly good, after you add nutmeg). But, buying things for baking has been a bigger hassle than you can imagine. I tracked down chocolate chips (finally), managed to get some good spices, and even found someone who will sneak off to the Big Big Store On the Outskirts of Town and buy me a big bag of flour.
But no molasses. Which makes it hard to make gingerbread cookies. Really really hard. Silly me, I had the cunning idea of just asking someone where it was, incase I'd forgotten how molasses looked or something.
I really thought they were joking. They weren't.
So, after that brief breakdown in the store ("How do you not have molasses? And chocolate chips in big bags? And big bags of flour? God, why am I living in the land where no one bakes?" - all said in my head), I picked up what I cound find (why can I find pineapple flavoured cottage cheese, but cream cheese is a problem?) and went home to do some baking. The truffles, by the way, were a big hit, as were the giraffe shaped cookies.
The big batch of culture shock came later, though. Myles and I were walking home, and for some reason the subject of candy canes came up.
"What's a Candy Cane?" he said, all innocent like.
"No, I'm not kidding. What's a candy cane?"
"I-- I-- I----"
I spent the better part of a 30 minute bus ride trying to explain this to him, occasionally saying "What do you mean, you don't have candy canes?" in a slightly more histerical tone each time.
I started adding things up in my head: I hadn't seen candy canes in the stores. I hadn't heard any Christmas music. None of the apartments in the area are tackily decked out with Christmas lights. There's no snow.
I think Scotland cancelled Christmas.
This is about the point in my mental breakdown that I go wander into the kitchen and have another rum ball.
ETA: By the way, a nice lady on the bus earlier this week assured me that molasses is treacle, but since I'm now in a state of horrified culture shock, I'm not sure this can help.