Childhood trauma lasts forever. When I was little, she told me I couldn’t point at the moon or else the lady in the moon will cut my ears off. CUT. MY. EAR. OFF. Who the hell says that to an eight year old? She also told me for every grain of rice I leave in my bowl, there will be a pockmark on my future husband’s face. I used to be terrified of this because I was a vain little snotfaced 10 year old kid. and TO THIS DAY, I can’t leave food in a restaurant.
There ain’t no shame in asking. I moved to Cape Town when I was seven years old. and was painfully shy because I didn’t speak the language Afrikaans. My mom used to force me to ask for take-out boxes, water, or utensils from waiters at restaurants. Though I hated when she did that, it really did help build my language skills and brought me out of my shell a little bit. It’s backfired a bit for her; sometimes I can’t seem to stop asking my waiters non sequiturs. Case in point, “Can I get the chicken parmesan and…what color nail polish is that?” My mom’s reaction gets all 0.o, like she wishes she can take it all back.
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