Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I am sorry, we don't have any tacos

So yesterday my sister posted an adorable story about my nephew and his two tiny cute orange birds.

(As an aside, I was at work from 8am to 8pm and got home exhausted and was able to relay two things to Mr. P before I crashed in front of Amazing Race dvr'ed from Sunday. The first was that we would be getting our $200 back, the second was our nephew's two tiny cute orange birds. Mr. P first wanted photos, but when I explained that the baby was putting them on the couch for his mom to take a picture, that did not phase him. "So? I want to see those birds." And second, our school colors are orange and blue, and when he heard the birds were orange, I could see the wheels turning..."He has ORANGE bird friends. Our school has ORANGE as a color, and has a bird friend. STEAMBOAT LOVES AUBURN. ")

Anyway, back to my story, yesterday, I posted about ordering hummus at an expensive dinner, and my sister asked me if I ordered that because my visitor was from India and all Indian people love the hummus. (He actually was IN India, but from Kansas.) We are not actually that culturally dense, there is a backstory there that is attributable to my son.

I read alot of "mommy blogs" and I have to say, I don't really have too many mommy stories that don't include references to beer pong, tattoos or the ACT, and to be brutally honest..those stories just aren't that damn cute, or funny.

But the Indian people liking hummus got me thinking back to Easter, 1999, and the type of stories I would have had to relay had I blogged when I had little kids.

We lived in a dumpy apartment, and my sister, her new boyfriend (Steamboat's Dad), my mom, me, Mr. P and both kids were spending the day together. We were sitting outside on the tiny "porch" and working on some Easter crafts that we got from the Dollar Store that were turning out horribly, and getting ready to eat. Apparently, the little boy (now the one in high school) had invited his friend, Marcos, over for dinner, unbeknownst to Mr. P or I.

As Marcos is being introduced to the family, and we are asking him would he like hotdogs or steak (you know, traditional Easter fare) our little boy announces, "I am sorry Marcos, we don't have any tacos."

For the record, Marcos chose steak.

3 comments:

Tracy said...

But you have to say that Marcos was Mexican, and that you fell off the tiny porch in your chair, and the dogs ate our Easter cake...it just isn't as funny of a story with out those parts...

Hotch Potchery said...

I figured people could infer the cultural background with the name, but yes that is an important part of the story. Funny thing is I did try to write the whole story, and really, it just sounded more pathetic and white trashy than funny.

Maybe I could have included how we ate the rest of the Easter cake...just cut off the "dog bites".

Jen L. said...

Haaaaaaaaa! I can't decide if the post or the comments are funnier!

 
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