Well, that isn’t true. I won’t do anything. Except maybe go sulk/fume in my room until they barge in and ask why I am alone. I am alone because I am tired of being told that everything I do is wrong, my food is disgusting, and I need to marry a Mozambican man. No thank you. And by the way, you say my food is gross, but for pretty much every meal you eat pasta with sick tomato-y sardines and so much salt and vegetable oil that you are going to have a heart attack tomorrow. That might be the definition of sick food. We should consult Webster or something.
You know the phrase. “wearing out your welcome.” Well it doesn't exist here. My house is a veritable hotel right now. Hotel guests: me, my roommate, her sister, her niece was here, but then she left and her friend came, and now she is leaving and my roommate’s boyfriend is coming. So basically, in the teeny tiny three-room cement house upon the hill here in the chid, we are living like the sick sardines they just love to eat.
Oh and the guests/tenants just love to narrate my life:
You are tired? Go to sleep. Don't tell me what to do.
You are sleeping. Well I want to be sleeping, but now you are talking to me. And could you turn down the Bon Jovi please.
You are running. Great observational skills.
You look fat in that picture. Uma Gordita! Not as fat as you are right now.
You cut the pineapple wrong. Is it possible to cut fruit wrong?
You don’t like bread? You keep telling me I am getting fat, so I am boycotting bread.
I have a brother you can marry. No no, thanks anyway.
Are those mosquito bites on your face? No no, they are zits, thank you.
You should change your shirt to look beautiful. I would rather not impassion people.
You should put make-up on to look beautiful. No.
Press that button on your computer. You have never used a computer before in your life, so shut up and let me work.
You are making rice wrong. Again, is that possible?
Do you know how to make rice? We do have rice in
WAIT STOP
Oh, you learned how to mop a floor. You are a smart girl. I am not some heathen child, I did clean my floor in
Give me that. Say please.
Lend me your ipod, computer, flash drive, camera. No. Keep your virus to yourself.
I can help you organize your room. I like it just the way it is thank you.
Eat this. No.
Come here little girl. I am not a little girl. Say please come here Senhora Professora or I will not acknowledge your presence.
Let me accompany you to the market. NO. Because everyone (most likely including you) will think you are my husband, and then they will hand my bag of tomatoes to you. Excuse me, they are my tomatoes. I paid for them. Hand them to ME!
Your stomach hurts, it is because you are getting fat. No no, it is because your country is festering with intestinal diseases.
It is because the weather has been changing a lot. That is an awfully strange proposition.
You have zits because you aren’t having sex. Again, a strange proposition.
Did you have a boyfriend in
Why not? Because I didn't.
That isn’t possible. Yes it is.
Weren’t your parents worried about you? No no, I don't think they were.
How I deal with the constant criticism:
1. I have taught them the word bossy (“like a boss?”). So I usually respond with “Ok Mr./Mrs. Bossy.
2. I say, “well this is how we do it in
3. I just passive aggressively mutter annoyed responses in English so they can’t understand.
4. In an attempt to avoid the whole your food is disgusting and you are so strange conversation, I don't eat when people are around. And people are constantly around. I am really hungry right now.
No comments:
Post a Comment