Why is there a blender in my trunk?

Just when I think things might be going a little smoother, that there actually might be hope for this Brazil thing to work out, I have a day like this:

Friday we had zone conferences. They were at a church pretty close to home and I know how to drive there so Alan went ahead of me in one car. I was going to finish cutting up some fruit for the lunch, pick up a few things we needed at the grocery store and come a little later in the other car. Irene was here helping me with the fruit. She doesn't speak English and I, well.... you know. When we finished cutting up the pineapple, she put all the little scrap pieces in the blender, added some water and gave it a whirl. She doesn't waste anything and I guess she was blending it to strain and drink later. I don't know why I felt it was necessary to say something, especially when I can't , but in very broken Portuguese I tried to tell her that I thought that was a good idea to use up those scraps. She smiles, says something in Portuguese that I don't have a clue about, but I smile and nod my head in agreement. The next thing I know she is washing and drying the blender and putting it in a bag. I just watch, trying to figure out what is going on, but in too big of a hurry to go look up words in my dictionary to use to actually ask her why she put it in a bag. We start to take the fruit out to the car and I notice she has also picked up the bag with the blender in it. It gets put in the trunk with the fruit and other stuff. We say "tchau" to each other and I drive off with a blender in my trunk.

I head to the store, successfully get the parking ticket out of the machine at the parking lot entrance and go straight to the deli counter. I order the sliced cheese we need, tell the man I'll be back in a minute to pick it up, head for the bakery counter and ask for 80 buns. I had double checked how to say eighty before I left home so I didn't expect any trouble. He started loading the right kind of buns. Things seemed to be on track. Then I notice he is already going for the scale and the little machine that spits out the sticker with the amount you owe. I say, "Mais, Mais," which means, "More, more." He looks slightly puzzled and so I say "oitenta" again, this time drawing the numerals, 8 and 0 in the air as I say it. I think to myself, "That for sure ought to work," but it didn't. Another store employee comes along, says something to him, and I think I'm saved. He starts loading more buns, but hands them to me way before there are 80. I start looking around for anyone that I think might speak English. There is a lady in the line that has started to form behind me that steps forward, and asks me how many I need. I tell her 80. She then says "oitenta", just like I did, and now his light goes on. I load them up in my cart, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the line that formed during this misunderstanding and is now having to wait while he counts out 80 buns. I head for the checkout. I remember to get my parking ticket validated. I drive safely to the church. Everything is good . I start unloading the car and suddenly remember I forgot that stupid cheese. I just don't have it in me to go back and get it then. I figure the Elders can pick it up when they get the pop later. I try to slip into the meeting next to Alan quietly. He can tell by the look on my face that I must have had a bad morning. He whispers, "What's wrong?" I say,"Nothing really, but there is a blender in the trunk and I have no idea why."