Tagged: book

“How long have you been here? In gollyland.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this. I get asked this more than anything else, but it never gets easier.

I try not to show it, my anxiety, as I say, “All of my life.”

“Well, let me tell you this much,” she says with a look of surprise, before winking, “I don’t detect any accent.”

This too, I’m told all the time. Somewhere between the relief and paranoia, I mutter my thanks.

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My mother’s sweet tooth

I finish eating my broccoli and I go to put the spoon I used into the sink, which is filled with bowls and dishes.

My mother says, “Bring everything that needs to be washed.”

I say, “I have the bowl I had for the broccoli, but it’s okay. I’ll use it to microwave my chicken in a bit.”

She says, “Bring it here. It’ll attract flies.”

I say, “It won’t. Flies like fruits and onions. Broccoli isn’t sweet to them. They only land on sweet things.”

And I say, “Just like you do,” inducing laughter in her.