A Typical Dinner con la Familia

Disclaimer: This post was actually written a long time ago and never posted because it was just a tad to self-deprecating and sad. But after reading Arash’s blog just be thankful I’m not asking you to listen to some crap music at the same time. (Really Arash? Justin Bieber? Have some shame man.) If you want to see a great parody of Arash’s blog, take a look at Seppie’s.

Dinner usually begins around an hour and a half after I’ve said to myself: “this is the end. I am going to die of hunger right here, right now.” (The time between this declaration and dinner is spent staring at my ceiling, waiting for my host mom to call me for dinner.)

Eventually, the beautiful noise of my host mom knocking on the door will finally be heard and I’ll jump to the kitchen with light speed, only to be greeted by…..

Chicken noodle soup with an egg.

(Obviously, I don’t have this soup every night, but this is a typical dinner and I’m pretty sure we eat this at least three times a week.)

And so dinner begins: me, Robyn, Anna, Lily, Host Momma, Host Papa, the chicken noodle soup, and silence. We sit silently, slurping our soup, until finally Anna will say: “So how was your day?” (in Spanish) to the girls. Cue the responses:

Lily: One minute spent talking about whatever class she had that day and how exciting and awesome it was.

Robyn: thirty seconds spent saying she went to the gym and then went to class and allwas good.

Roshan: 5 seconds saying “me too.”

Silence once again will descend upon the table until Anna, bless her, will try and start some sort of conversation. This will, more often than not, fire Host Momma up and get her talking. And talking. And talking. Anna will partake by asking intelligent questions; Robyn will partake with her overly enthusiastic “mhms” and head nods; Lily will space out and stare at the table, and I will focus all my energy on trying to understand the conversation.

Ten minutes later Host Momma will still be talking and my focus will be wavering.
It’s at this point where I start to notice things like Host momma’s broken fingernail or the way her hair is slightly longer on the left side of her face rather than the right. As I daydream I’ll find myself thinking of something funny (ie- llamas doing jumping jacks), which of course will lead me to think about how bad it would be if I started giggling to myself while Host Momma was telling her super serious story. Now, if you’re a giggly person you probably know that once you think this you’re done. Soon you’re thinking about all the other funny things you shouldn’t be thinking about and before you know it you’re the crazy loon who’s laughing like a moron in an extremely uncomfortable situation.

Go ahead and color me crazy loon. But at least the laughter will cause Host Papa to remember some horribly rude, racist, sexist or perverted joke and dinner will end with everyone laughing (or uncomfortably looking at their finished soupy eggy bowl).

The End.

PS. Obviously now things have changed. I no longer zone out and laugh like a maniac and I pretty much understand everything that’s being said (unless of course she is asking a question to me directly in which case I panic and can’t understand anything).