Amazon And Hot Lips In The Dentist Chair
Expat "firsts" never end. What we can all learn from it.
When was the last time you experienced a “first” in your life? Something that required an extra dose of patience and focus — or a renewed experience you had quietly given up on?
As an immigrant, the firsts never seem to end. There are immigration deadlines on the calendar that loom like last night’s dishes in the sink. Then there are the surprises that come out of nowhere and slap you in the face — some good, some not so good. Remaining flexible, with a dash of stubbornness and humor, will take any expat far toward success in their adopted country.
And yes, this also applies to anyone taking on new challenges and risks.
Hot Duck Lips
Take last week, for example. While wandering through the farmácia, I noticed a glass fishbowl of lip gloss promising to plump your kisser like a 24-year-old social media influencer — on sale. “Hmm,” I thought. “That could be fun for my 60-year-old smacker.”
Purchasing three tubes (because they were a great color), I envisioned looking younger and photo-ready at the next expat luncheon. Once home — and after hacking open the packaging — I smeared the gloss across my lower lip. As I admired the mirror-like shine, a twinge of pain shot through me.
Then… “Ouch!… OUCH!”
My lips felt like they´d been slathered with Uncle Jim Bob´s Alabama Sweat Like A Pig hot sauce. And as if that wasn’t enough, I licked my lip. Now my tongue was on fire. My whole mouth, actually.
Cherry Kiss lip gloss, my foot. It felt more like Chili Pepper Extract lip gloss, which — according to AI — is precisely what’s added as a mild irritant to increase blood flow, causing that temporary “plump.” The microscopic ingredient list confirmed my suspicion… capsaicin (though I think someone on the factory floor was distracted when adding it). After wiping it off, I stood at the bathroom vanity fanning my lips. Now there’s a sight no one needs to witness.
Let’s face it — we all trim, tweeze, dye, laser, and take measures to preserve some form of youthful appearance. And now I can add chili pepper extract to my growing list. So if you ever see me with irritated lips, just know it’s in the name of beauty, with a dash of insanity. And yes, there are still three tubes to work through with unbridled commitment.
This was a first!
A Swoon-Worthy Dentist
Since immigrating to Portugal, I’ve been to the dentist three times — all with disastrous results. I pride myself on keeping every pearly white healthy and cavity-free, and I’m a bit OCD about flossing.
Still, dental cleanings here involved white-knuckling the chair in pain, a D- on thoroughness, and poking and prodding as if someone were servicing a diesel engine.
On one occasion, the hygienist told me, “If it doesn’t hurt, I’m not doing a good job.” Hmm! Was that covered in Chapter Five of dental school? This was the same young male hygienist whose flabby stomach hung over the chair, rubbing against my sleeve as he buzzed around my bicuspids with a machine that sounded like a mosquito with a bullhorn. Add icy-cold water, and you’ve got a recipe for sensitive-teeth agony. Every appointment was followed by two days of soft food, and fresh crow’s feet from squinting.
On one visit, I had X-rays and a “dental exam.” The entire checkup lasted about 35 seconds. I complained, but was met with rolling eyes and a scowl reserved for sassy immigrants.
To top it off, Portugal favors a dry, high-pressure whitening treatment that leaves you coated in baking-soda dust, in need of a shower, with white specks in your hair and on your dry-clean-only trousers. I didn’t go back. I couldn’t — without twitching or requiring therapy. Dental cleanings were like running cattle through a stockyard chute. In and out in 15 minutes. Thanks. Next. €76.
I was jaded. I canceled my next appointment and longed for my compassionate, gentle dentist in the U.S. My trust in dentistry was broken, and I surrendered to the notion that this is just how it is in Portugal.
Heavy sigh.
Then — like a gift from the oral hygiene gods — the nearby medical clinic recommended their dentist. I took a leap of faith. Walking into the softly-lit exam room, I shared my nervousness with the oh-so-attractive young dentist. We chatted as Carla — the best hygienist ever — warmed the water and posted X-rays.
The exam was thorough. No cavities. Of course.
The dentist, not a flabby, tummy-hygienist, commented that, for not having a cleaning in a year, my teeth and gums looked remarkable. I introduced him to my flossing obsession. Over the next 45 minutes, he navigated molars and those tricky lower front teeth so smoothly that I nearly nodded off.
He did the same high-pressure whitening — but without the mess. I left with happy teeth and a smile so bright you needed sunglasses. Exam, cleaning, and optimism in Portuguese dentistry: €65.
A renewed first!
Old Bakeries and Portugal Amazon
Today, I’m stuck in my 552-square-foot apartment waiting for an Amazon delivery.
Portugal uses a host of quirky delivery methods that often require you to stay home all day. You receive a secret email code, anticipate a phone call from a CTT (post office) driver, then sprint down three flights of stairs to show your code and retrieve your package from a burly man in a truck screeching to a curbside halt. That´s on a good day. As might be expected, Amazon orders are a calculated risk.
There are no convenient Amazon pickup lockers here in Monte Gordo, Portugal. In fact, there is no Amazon Portugal. Orders come through Spain or Germany, and it’s a crapshoot at best.
A few weeks ago, I experienced another “first”— the kind that tugs at your energy levels and demands focus. I received an email with instructions to pick up my Amazon delivery at Manuel´s Snack Bar and Pastelaria (yes, I changed the name). What? Was this a fraudulent scam? A social experiment? Still, curiosity (and my order) got the best of me, so I walked the two blocks and entered, shaking off the day´s rain.
It was a dimly lit bakery that looked as though it had been in business since the days of Columbus. You could buy bread, cigarettes, and pastries, sip a beer — and, apparently, retrieve Amazon packages. Navigating a chaotic maze of heavy, dark-wood tables and sticky chairs, I held up my iPhone notice to an elderly woman behind the counter.
From head to toe, she was dusted in flour. Her short, curly hair was part red, part white, and she wore the ubiquitous Nanna pullover apron. Without hesitation, she took (yanked) my phone from my hand and disappeared into the back room.
I stood there wide-eyed and slightly panicked, wondering if I’d ever see my next-of-kin iPhone again. Hoping to catch a glimpse, I leaned forward, half-expecting to witness granny pants hawking my phone out the side door to some tattooed black-market dealer.
From the back room came clanking. Shuffling. Then a heavy thud. I imagined someone’s priceless family heirloom smashing onto the tile floor, sending up a dramatic cloud of flour dust. I waited patiently, hesitant to touch anything.
Moments later, she strolled out with my small package of nutritional supplements (how boring, I know). She slapped it on the counter and pulled out a device that looked like a credit card reader on steroids — part scanner, part police taser.
As she tapped buttons, it chirped at the QR code on my phone. Then she shoved my phone back across the counter and grunted, “Sim, sim.” Which, in Portuguese, is pronounced “Sing, sing” and means “Yes, yes.” To sound like a local, you always repeat your yes — or thoughtfully stretch it out like you’re contemplating the effects of nuclear physics. And that was it. Another “first” successfully navigated. Returning to today, hopefully my delivery will arrive soon, via driver, scooter, helicopter, or alien landing.
For immigrants, everyday tasks require more thought, brain cells, courage, and a reliable language translator. It can be exhausting. Gone are the days of running errands on a lunch hour. Now it involves a slower pace, whether by public transportation or just hoofin´ it with bags in tow. But that´s alright. Immigrants embrace change and are up to the challenge of learning everything again. That´s EVERYTHING! It’s the small price to live a life untethered, full of exploration, and yes, firsts.
With the new year comes more “firsts” for all of us — good or bad, planned or surprising. In 2026, we’ll say goodbye and hello, take chances, learn new technology, and, with any luck, weave in travel, love, and hope along the way.
For this little traveler, there are significant firsts on the horizon — which you’ll just have to watch for. Until then, if you see me out and about fanning my plump duck lips, sporting a pearly white smile on my way to pick up a mystery package, know that I´m experiencing firsts in my life too, all while encouraging you to do the same.