Last night we had cous cous with our dinner. It was good and so benign that even the pickiest of kids should not be able to find anything about it to dislike. My little skeptics interrogated me. What is it? "What is it made from? What does it taste like? I think I gave all good answers but only one child ate one forkful, Amanda, and she said it was revolting. Thanks for that.
They asked where it came from. I didn't know, somewhere in the near East. India? "India" I stated authoritatively. Natalie asked what their Indian names were. Um, good question. The Indian names bank is pretty low at present. Aladdin? Jasmine? Jafar? I needed more girls names. (I need another Disney movie.) They were happy to play along, as if serving yourself 1/2 teaspoon of cous cous and then not eating it somehow qualifies you for international distinction.
Ryan said the blessing, and though he started out well enough, he intentionally slid into an Indian accent. "Ve are thankful" with the little cadence and vocal inflection thing. Irreverent? Totally. Disrespectful? Yes. Did we all refrain from snickering? No way. We could not. But I did ask Erika to say a more reverent prayer than Raj.
1 comment:
That is so funny. I'm with your kids though, I hate cous cous.
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