In the Obnoxious family, we never buy sodas at restaurants. First of all, we're just not the type of people who get into soda. Soda was a rarity at my home, growing up, because who needs it? Second of all, if my parents are already spending money on a dinner out for eight people, there's no way they're going to spend an extra $15 to $25 on carbonated liquid. That would be ridiculous.
The only time of year when my parents will take me to a restaurant and let me order a soda is the time of year when I celebrate my birth. They don't just buy me a soda, either. They'll take me to whatever restaurant I choose and say those four blessed words: "Get whatever you want."
If I want appetizers, I get appetizers. If I want salad and soup, I get salad and soup. If I want dessert, I get dessert. And if I want a soda then, by golly, I get a soda.
Normally, I don't like soda that much. It tends to make me feel gross inside if I drink too much. But when it's my birthday, because being allowed to order a soda is special, I always get a Sprite when my parents take me for dinner. And on that one day a year, it tastes to me like the nectar of Olympus.
This year for my birthday, my parents took me to Olive Garden. I ordered us an appetizer plate of both calamari and seafood stuffed mushrooms. I ordered myself salad and the chicken and gnocchi soup. I ordered seafood lasagna. I ordered black tie chocolate mousse cake.
And I ordered one tall, delicious, ice-cold glass of Sprite.
With free refills.
While we ate, my parents regaled me with tales of how adorable I was as a baby. How I tried to change my own diaper as a toddler. How I was born with dark, dark hair and how, in addition to my legal name, they gave me a Hawaiian name that means "dark-haired beauty". (Imagine their surprise and dismay when I turned out a towhead.)
It was pretty much perfect. Everything was highly wonderful until the waitress came and refilled my father's water glass.
Why did I not notice what she did next?
Why was I not paying attention?
Who knows? But I didn't, and I wasn't. And the next time I took a sip of my Sprite, I discovered that the waitress had forgotten that my glass contained not water but delicious and bubbling Sprite.
She had refilled my glass with her pitcher.
The pitcher did not contain Sprite.
When next I spoke, it was in a tiny, strained voice. "She poured water into my birthday soda," I said.
"We're sorry," said my parents, with feeling. There is something profoundly sad about your parents buying you just one soda a year and having one of said sodas be diluted with water. Obviously that's not a big problem in comparison to other problems in the world. It's not even a big problem in comparison to other problems in my life. Yet the little disappointments can be the most soul-crushing.
Happily, I left Olive Garden that night with enough Americanized Italian food to eat for three straight days. And in the end, that's all that matters.
Showing posts with label Hawaiian adoptees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hawaiian adoptees. Show all posts
Friday, May 27, 2016
Thursday, June 11, 2015
What I've Been Up To
Last night, I got an exceedingly angry-looking iPod message from the one and only Little Sister.
Little Sister: POST ON UR BLOG
Little Sister: DAGNABBIT
I assure you that I have every intention of posting on my blog. Currently, I'm working on a post about the Sunday I spent in New York City.
BUT. Practically every second of my life is scheduled every day, and it's been exceedingly hard to write.
Like on Tuesday. First I worked. Then I came home and briefly exercised before practicing for a luau that we are putting on in front of a significant portion of Hometown.
Yes, a luau. My mother's family, who is about 75% British and 25% Danish, is made up of professionally trained hula dancers. I am also a trained hula dancer, although far from professional. We have all danced many times together in various locations around Utah, we haoles.
Anyways, my mother and her brother take these luaus very seriously, while the rest of us take them not-so-seriously. (I suggested to Little Sister that, given the circumstances, we could call them Jew-aus. She was not terribly amused, but her reaction was nowhere as horrified my mother's would have been had she heard me.) The point is--we rehearse for these things. I don't know if your family just gets together and rehearses stuff, but mine does.
After rehearsal, I made dinner. It was chicken satay with a peanut sauce. It ended up well, except for the fact that the wooden skewers ended up being more decorations than anything. I was unsuccessful in affixing them in a way that would actually hold the meat's weight.
Also, the recipe called for fish sauce. The Internet warned me that fish sauce smelled bad, but I didn't believe the Internet until I smelled it. Forget bad. Fish sauce smells like pure evil.
Later, I was narrating my cooking skills out loud because it's a lifelong dream of mine to have my own cooking show. As I scraped half a cup of peanut butter into the pan, I said, "This is where things get weird!" Then I remembered that things had already gotten weird when I added the fish sauce and that I was essentially lying to my imaginary studio audience. This is why they'll never give me a cooking show.
By the time I'd quickly eaten dinner, I was late for institute. By the time institute was over, I was very late for my improv comedy workshop. By the time my workshop was over, it was time to go to bed and rest in preparation of doing pretty much the same thing the next day.
The point is, I haven't really had time to write a poorly written blog post, much less a good one. But I'll update again soon. I promise, Little Sister.
Little Sister: POST ON UR BLOG
Little Sister: DAGNABBIT
I assure you that I have every intention of posting on my blog. Currently, I'm working on a post about the Sunday I spent in New York City.
BUT. Practically every second of my life is scheduled every day, and it's been exceedingly hard to write.
Like on Tuesday. First I worked. Then I came home and briefly exercised before practicing for a luau that we are putting on in front of a significant portion of Hometown.
Yes, a luau. My mother's family, who is about 75% British and 25% Danish, is made up of professionally trained hula dancers. I am also a trained hula dancer, although far from professional. We have all danced many times together in various locations around Utah, we haoles.
Anyways, my mother and her brother take these luaus very seriously, while the rest of us take them not-so-seriously. (I suggested to Little Sister that, given the circumstances, we could call them Jew-aus. She was not terribly amused, but her reaction was nowhere as horrified my mother's would have been had she heard me.) The point is--we rehearse for these things. I don't know if your family just gets together and rehearses stuff, but mine does.
After rehearsal, I made dinner. It was chicken satay with a peanut sauce. It ended up well, except for the fact that the wooden skewers ended up being more decorations than anything. I was unsuccessful in affixing them in a way that would actually hold the meat's weight.
Also, the recipe called for fish sauce. The Internet warned me that fish sauce smelled bad, but I didn't believe the Internet until I smelled it. Forget bad. Fish sauce smells like pure evil.
Later, I was narrating my cooking skills out loud because it's a lifelong dream of mine to have my own cooking show. As I scraped half a cup of peanut butter into the pan, I said, "This is where things get weird!" Then I remembered that things had already gotten weird when I added the fish sauce and that I was essentially lying to my imaginary studio audience. This is why they'll never give me a cooking show.
By the time I'd quickly eaten dinner, I was late for institute. By the time institute was over, I was very late for my improv comedy workshop. By the time my workshop was over, it was time to go to bed and rest in preparation of doing pretty much the same thing the next day.
The point is, I haven't really had time to write a poorly written blog post, much less a good one. But I'll update again soon. I promise, Little Sister.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)