On good friends and bad Spanish

Another wonderfully Spanish spoken encounter of mine -
Me: " I want to be a teacher"
Waitor: "What do you want to teach?"
Me: "Little kids."
Waitor: "You like little kids?
Me: "Nice to meet you."

While walking down the street, we were called, "Sweetie! Hey Barbie." It´s nice that someone finally acknowledged the resemblance.

Two days ago, I cracked and went to the doctor, whom I wouldn´t have found without Erin. Actually, I would not have been able to do a lot of things without her. If we relied on my Spanish, we would probably end up in Peru.
Doctors here work quite differently. She didn´t even ask for my name until all meds were given. I got four sets of meds to take over the next 10 days, and I was also given a shot. In the butt. This was quite hilarious, with Erin sitting there, and the woman saying, "Please get rid of some more" - meaning my pants. I do believe, however, that this is a trait of an excellent friend . . . one who will sit with you while you get stabbed in the bare behind.