Ever since my post two days ago, I’ve been thinking about Brow Baby and Meat Baby. These names conjure up thoughts of an interesting Saturday morning cartoon done in a Ren & Stimpy style. Or of a piece of performance art that no one (even the artist) really understands. Or the front page of the Weekly World News (next to Batboy). I’ll have to keep pondering the meaning of this.
Although today’s post involves a large quantity of meat and people with eyebrows, it does not involve Brow Baby or Meat Baby. Yesterday was a nice, relaxing day around our stifling hot house. But, I didn’t want to spend another day inside. Before I even got out of bed this morning, I prayed: “Ok, God. I don’t want to spend another day inside. I’d like to see people. Will you work that out?”
About 10 minutes later my husband returned from a morning walk. He had run into the father of the Snip-snip boys and he had invited us to a picnic for this afternoon. So, that’s what I ended up doing today.
The mom, who I’ll name Emily because you couldn’t pronounce her name and because it looks a little too much like enema, is a friend of mine. I like her because she’s incredibly patient with me and my language. She’s also really down-to-earth and sweet. I had only met her hubby, Gus, once at the party. I had seen her sons at their party, but hadn’t talked to them before. It was fun getting to know the rest of the family.
First we went to this outdoor café-type place. It was cool. You brought all the food with you and they provided the drinks and the grill. Also, the loud music. You can’t forget the necessity of loud Central Asian pop music. I brought cookies and some snacks. Emily and Gus brought supplies to make one salad and the meat.
They grilled enough chicken wings for each of us to eat 4 or 5. Then, there were the meatballs (4 or 5 each), then the sausage (also plenty of that). That’s it. There’s your menu for you: meat, meat, meat, salad, bread. I half expected them to get out meat pie for dessert. It was an Atkins dream. A protein party. A meaty melee. A picnic con carne.
After this, we went to the beach. By this time the oppressive heat had cooled down a bit and we were able to swim, etc. Our friends forgot the youngest son’s swimsuit. No problem. He’s only 3. Let him swim in his undies. They were a couple sizes too big for him and look more like girl panties from the states (that’s the style here). I spent a great portion of my evening throwing rocks in the ocean with a three year old in sandy, drooping wet granny panties. And it was fun. This child has a really sweet spirit about him. He laughed a lot and was really well-behaved.
We also got to know the older son. He also had a great smile and loved to laugh. And loved to talk. In fact, he’s the talkingest dang kid I know. He is also the type of person who talks without commas. You know, he doesn’t really pause between clauses or thoughts unless he’s laughing. He also had no pity for us – he kept forgetting that his endless stories about the time he was in the bathroom for a long time and a man couldn’t wait on him anymore so he used the women’s bathroom, or how he’s doing in school, or what he ate at his Snip-snip party were not told in our native language. His mom kept having to stop him and make him slow down.
To give you an idea of our conversations (um, I mean his monologues), here’s a rough transcription of a 2 minute conversation with him.
“I really like to go to the beach and I’ve been so much this summer that I’m really black except under my swim trunks and there I’m white as cotton you know I’ve been taking swimming lessons and our teacher has taken us to the beach a couple of times and it has been really fun and I’m getting good at swimming but I’m also taking basketball lessons and I don’t like them as much you know how when you’re supposed to get up in the morning to go to school you can’t ever wake up no matter what time you go to bed the night before but if it’s the weekend even if you go to bed at 5 am you can still get up at 8 and be ready to go mostly because that’s when I watch cartoons and I like the ones with fighting the most and I think guns and weapons are cool especially on video games and tonight you guys should come to our house and my mom will fix you tea and coffee and we’ll have a great time and I just love to eat sunflower seeds don’t you?”
Sprinkle in some laughter and several words you don’t understand and you’ve got the gist of it. The kid didn’t stop talking for hours.
After the beach (where we ate peanuts, pumpkin seeds, corn nuts, sunflower seeds, cookies, peaches, and who can remember what else), we went on to round three…. We moved to the balcony of their house. Here they didn’t feed us any more, but we did have several more glasses of tea and some local coffee. This stuff is stronger than espresso and has the grounds still in the cup. So, you can’t drink it to the bottom or you’ll get a mouthful of coffee powder.
It’s now almost 1 a.m. and we’re finally home. I don’t think I’ll go to bed for a little while. I’ll have to digest some first. Otherwise I’ll have strange dreams of meat, sagging granny panties, comma-less talking boys, and food.
My random wanderings are now over. Some of you may still be wondering what the point to all of this is. There is no point. This is a blog. I write unimportant stuff and you read it. Then you go on with your day thinking: “Man, I’m a lot better off knowing that mab overdosed on meat tonight. I’ll make sure I read her blog again tomorrow so I can hear her plans for an acclaimed off-Broadway musical: Meat Baby and Brow Baby: The Musical”
Have a meaty day.