Loading ...One hour before the lunch prices ended, and the rednecks are let loose on the feeding troughs. Its a spectacular site, it really is. The women with their high hair and black hills gold jewelry. The men with their high hair (sort of Elvis-plus) and their toothpicks hanging off their lower lips. Makes me wish I’d brought my camera.
Then there’s Don, complaining about my food choices. “You can eat chicken at home, why are you gonna eat chicken when we go out?”
Why? Because I wanted a chicken fajita, and rice, which is foreign food and not allowed in our all-American household.
And my mother feels the need to make excuses for me, “She’s like her grandmother, Don, she likes chicken.”
Yep, I’m like my grandmother. And like my grandmother I not only like chicken, but booze, sex and psychonautics. In fact, I think my grandmother had more vices than I do. She also gambled, which I’ve never become too fond of. I enjoy a hand of poker now and then, but I’d have a long way to go before becoming a gambler of grandma’s status.
Anyway, I like chicken fajitas, and I haven’t had decent Mexican food since Tahitimas. Giant burritos seem to be becoming Tahitimas tradition, at least for R the P, Mojo and me.
So why does wanting a fajita warrant an excuse, like I’m deranged or something. Shhhhh…. hush Don, you know she’s not right in the head.
Yep, like my grandmother.
Buy me a beer!
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This entry was posted on Saturday, April 28th, 2007 at 4:22 pm and is filed under edible. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
“Forrin food?! My god, she must be a real nut to want those chicken vaginas or whatever they’re called.”
[sigh] I suppose I should count myself lucky that I had parents with a little education and interest in different things. Admittedly, there isn’t much forrin food in my family homes, but they do sometimes have “the pizs-ah” which is what my grandmother calls pizza. Sometimes, they add spices or increase the cheese (!). As a teenager in a more ‘traveled’ area , however, I was mortified by their ‘country ways’. Now, I am mostly amused.
Then again, I rarely see them so I can be amused by silly things. If I lived with them like my sister does, I doubt I would be very amused.
But you stuck to your guns and had forrin chicken and vietnam murdering rice too! Just like dear old grandma.
I laughed out loud because I have heard the same thing in my own lifetime.
“You can have ____ at home. Why would you want to eat it when you go out?”
As if they are all running for the hummus, vindaloo, and thenthuk.
But with that one comment by your mother, I now know how she has lived in denial about you all her life.
“She’s like her grandmother, Don.”
Why is Che munching on that pussy?
“She’s like her grandmother, Don.”
Why is Che hanging around with known homosexuals?
“She’s like her grandmother, Don.”
Why is Che telling people they are a lovely shade of green?
“Don! Now, I done told you. She’s like her grandmother.”
Its true - its one a’them southern thangs. “You can have that at home! Why git it when we eatin’ out?”.
Okay… NO, I CAN’T get fajitas at home. Or any food from south of the border, from over any ocean, or from north of Tennesee.
Don ate steak, which is what we have every Saturday. Every single Saturday. And here it is Saturday, and what does he have? Steak.
He also grumbled about KK eating nothing but salad. He just loves to dictate meals, even though he doesn’t cook. He’s a total food-nazi.
Don sounds like a veritable cornucopia of joy, openness, and just plain fun! What a lucky gal you are to have such a great guy living so very close by.
Ok, sarcasm aside, what a p.i.t.a. he is. And yes, I used the acronym because it spells a foreign food item. Take that, Mr Boring Food Dictator!
Yeah, he can be funny sometimes. Usually unintentionally.