It's not that easy being white

So, being white in Morocco means that two assumptions are made about you. The first is that you have a lot of money, and the second is that you may be easily swayed (for females I mean sexually, for everyone it means you can be swayed to part with the money you undoubtedly have). Now, to give the Moroccans some credit, this is not entirely untrue. Most white people are comparatively richer than most Moroccans, especially the ones who come here as tourists, and especially with the language barrier, it is pretty easy to swindle foreigners out of a few Dirhams. Bargaining here is not just for tourists, either. My host mom and I went to three different stores today before she found someone who would give her the price she wanted for bread. It's hard, though, to never be able to count on buying the same thing for the same price, and it's also hard not to take it personally. It is the principal, not the extra ten cents, that makes me mad when I'm asked to pay more than yesterday for a pack of gum or some roasted nuts, but the option of paying a better price after a minor argument in broken Arabic doesn't make me feel much better. (p.s. the roasted nuts are to die for)
It also seems that Moroccan men are under the assumption that because I am white I will be easily swayed by their cat calls. Sometimes humorous, but mostly not, I'm starting to get really sick of the "hello sweetie"s that I hear constantly. I have started to get furiously annoyed that I can't leave the house alone without some stupid comment and it will be an act of God if I leave this country without breaking someone's nose. Most of the time, the men don't even know what the English words they spew out mean, but I know that the sentiment is the same. The other day I was approached with an offer for "many camels if I would the marrying and we sit in the shop of the coffee you drink" from a kid who was maybe 13 years old. The young one's I want to smack upside the head but the older creeps I want to punch in the face. What is most frustrating is that I don't even have a good comeback in Arabic yet and it can be encouraging to offer any kind of response. So let this be a warning to any poor schmuck in the states who tries to cat call me when I get back. You will be getting my pent up fury from three months worth of sleeze and it will not be a pretty sight. On my own turf, I decide what does and does not fly and unless you've got more camels than the king of Morocco you better shut up.
I hate to paint this negative picture, life here is still great, I still love it, and it's really a beautiful country with wonderful people. Also I ate a snail. But I'll have to write about the ups later because it is now 4:10 and I have a 4:00 class. I do like Moroccan time, It's more like Jennifer time, more of an estimation of when something might happen than an actual appointed hour.