"Does the spaghetti have fried onions in it? I can't eat onions....they upset my stomach."
"Me, too!" agreed our very young, Spanish waiter. We later learned that he was 23. "I can't eat everything like I used to be able to because I have a hiatal hernia. They did many, many tests." He made a motion that suggested a tube being inserted into his throat, and then did the same indicating his behind. We were taken aback by his frankness. "I have a lot of diarrhea and I vomit a lot," he shared.
Yikes and yikes again!
J.P. caught my eye and we both tried our best not to laugh. He gathered his wits, cleared his throat and remarked, "Have you ever been tested for H-Pylori? Sometimes you can have terrible acid and it's caused by a bacteria called H-Pylori. They can do a blood test and if you have it, it's easy to get rid of."
"Yes, I had that. They tested my kaka for it." (This was unfortunately revealed to us as we were contemplating a spaghetti and meatballs [albondigas] dinner.) "They checked for it but the kaka was negative." I almost choked at that comment. It was just too much!
The young camarero candidly admitted that he was a hypochondriac and then left to serve several tables he'd neglected while he had been imparting this fascinating information to us. We were convulsed with laughter, and desperately tried to stifle our guffaws.
After several minutes our now intimate friend returned to take our order. Suddenly he raised his left arm and said to J.P., "Touch here...put your hand here." He indicated a spot just below his armpit and slightly to the right. J.P. was caught off guard and couldn't think of a way out. He did as commanded. He gently touched the 'spot' but the pressure was not to our friend's liking. With his own hand covering J.P.'s too tentative hand, he held it firmly in place and shook his upper torso violently from side to side. It might have been my imagination, but I was certain that I heard it! "Can you feel it? The water? I can't drink water because that's what happens." Sure enough, J.P. felt a pocket of liquid sloshing around under the poor guy's arm.
Believe me when I say that we will never look at a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in the same way again!
"Me, too!" agreed our very young, Spanish waiter. We later learned that he was 23. "I can't eat everything like I used to be able to because I have a hiatal hernia. They did many, many tests." He made a motion that suggested a tube being inserted into his throat, and then did the same indicating his behind. We were taken aback by his frankness. "I have a lot of diarrhea and I vomit a lot," he shared.
Yikes and yikes again!
J.P. caught my eye and we both tried our best not to laugh. He gathered his wits, cleared his throat and remarked, "Have you ever been tested for H-Pylori? Sometimes you can have terrible acid and it's caused by a bacteria called H-Pylori. They can do a blood test and if you have it, it's easy to get rid of."
"Yes, I had that. They tested my kaka for it." (This was unfortunately revealed to us as we were contemplating a spaghetti and meatballs [albondigas] dinner.) "They checked for it but the kaka was negative." I almost choked at that comment. It was just too much!
The young camarero candidly admitted that he was a hypochondriac and then left to serve several tables he'd neglected while he had been imparting this fascinating information to us. We were convulsed with laughter, and desperately tried to stifle our guffaws.
After several minutes our now intimate friend returned to take our order. Suddenly he raised his left arm and said to J.P., "Touch here...put your hand here." He indicated a spot just below his armpit and slightly to the right. J.P. was caught off guard and couldn't think of a way out. He did as commanded. He gently touched the 'spot' but the pressure was not to our friend's liking. With his own hand covering J.P.'s too tentative hand, he held it firmly in place and shook his upper torso violently from side to side. It might have been my imagination, but I was certain that I heard it! "Can you feel it? The water? I can't drink water because that's what happens." Sure enough, J.P. felt a pocket of liquid sloshing around under the poor guy's arm.
Believe me when I say that we will never look at a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in the same way again!
This reminds me of the time that Kim C and I were eating with our class in Wuxi. The female owner of the restaurant was much taken with our Kim and told her how beautiful she was. Repeatedly. In a pricless moment that I wish I'd captured photographically, she leaned over and planted a big smacker on Kim ... AND the lady had a cold sore. We were shocked and grossed out but laughed about it later. She felt kind of badly that I was not as pulchritudinous as our Kim, so she did compliment me on my ability to wield chopsticks with near-native fluency. It was a day to remember ... much like the vignette you have posted. Thanks for the laugh, Arr.
ReplyDeleteOh, how I wish you'd had a camera!!! A cold sore...hahahaha!!! Thank goodness you weren't as pulpchripubinyus as Kim! Pulchritudinous....what a woid! Will use it three times tomorrow in sentences that illustrate its meaning well...have to loin that one! Mwwwahhhhs to you, Miss P!
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness! Your story was priceless, Arlene. And Sheila, I do indeed remember that day in Wuxi. Before she kissed me, that dear lady pinned one of those way-too-pungent flowers on my sweater. An altogether overwhelming encounter.. :)
ReplyDeleteOh, my .....mama! Thank you for reading it! By the way, you are getting pretty...no...you are so much more. You are a pulchritudinous ......mama and you cain't git much better n' that!
ReplyDeleteWell, I have to thank Mr Graham, my Gr 9 Latin teacher, for that one as well as that oft-used adjective, uxorious. When we were in Wuxi, Raymond couldn't speak in the face of Kim's pulchritude ... "Oh, Kim, you are so beautiful it makes my face red" is how I recall that conversation going.
ReplyDeleteWell, I didn't know that one either because my husband isn't like that...thank the angels! Well, Kim is getting pretty, after all, so no wonder Raymond was tongue-tied!
ReplyDeleteI love to have fried onions in lunch.
ReplyDeleteSo do I, but my husband can't eat them!
ReplyDelete