Food, food, food…and more food. That seems to be the theme for the past couple of weeks. I have a new partner…her name is Kim…she is from Canada…she is a nurse practitioner…and she is pretty cool. We have a lot of things in common. What we don’t have in common are food preferences. I am a meat and potatoes, oil, butter, and cheese kind of a girl. She is a veggies and fruit kind of girl. I almost never make a dessert that doesn’t include chocolate. She doesn’t eat chocolate. She just has a very, very healthy diet, not by obligation or weight concern, but because she legitimately prefers nutritious food to junk food….a concept that is very foreign to me…very foreign. I eat healthy occasionally…because I should. I always prefer and choose bad for you food over good for you food. As different as her food tastes are from mine, living with her could be a good thing for me in the long run. I am daily increasing in excitement at the idea of trying new foods and recipes – ones I would have never previously touched – and try to find things that we both enjoy eating. Who knows, maybe I won’t meet my death at age 40 because of clogged arteries thanks to Kim. She is a big pancake fan (but she still makes them all healthy and junk) so we had some whole wheat pancakes and fruit one night for dinner. Then the next day I introduced her to pimento cheese. Naturally, she prefers whole wheat and fruit to mayonnaise and cheese….me, not so much!
On another food note, I went to my language nurturer’s house the other day after lunch. She had some guests and they were beginning to eat when I walked in and they all insisted I eat. Because of the color of my skin, I will always be the guest no matter where I go and who else there is actually a true guest. I tried to explain that I had already eaten, since I had, and that I was not hungry. Oh, but that Sayida, she is a tough one. That girl said to me, “Did you eat injera and pasta for lunch?” “Well no, no I didn’t,” I replied. “Ok, then, you can eat again because we are eating injera and pasta,” she tells me. Somehow, I didn’t realize that was how eating lunch worked. Apparently you can eat lunch twice as long as they aren’t the same meal. So I shoveled some injera and pasta (not my idea of a good meal to begin with – carbs and more carbs) down my throat and grinned and swallowed. With Sayida, I already knew there was no getting out of it. She could rival any Southern belle in over the top hospitality.
In non-food related news, yesterday while I was at language the little neighborhood chillens decided to let the air out of two of my truck tires. Sayida and I heard a noise, but her windows were covered and her door is hard to open, so we just let it be. Somehow I didn’t notice that I had two flat tires on the driver’s side when I got in and no one bothered to point it out either. However, I noticed when I tried to drive about 10 feet and my truck kept pulling to the left. It took about 2 seconds for me to put two and two together and realize what had happened. My supervisor’s guard and another friend came to the rescue with a foot pump, strong legs, and lots of energy to pump with. Not surprisingly none of the little neighborhood hudlums owned up to what they did and no adults were stepping up to provide any punishment, so I just let it go. We’ll see how long it takes before they do it again.