When the boys were small, we used to look for any fests we could find around Dallas and take off for the day. THe different foods, the people, the action kept the boys' eyes and minds occupied and it got stircrazy me out of the house. Somehow along the way, with sports and bigger houses to take care of on weekends, we stopped. Maybe next year, we can fill some suddenly lonely hours with those activities again.
When I was at UVA, I waitressed at a Greek restaurant owned by a macho Greek male with a shaved Telly SAvalis head and a huge black moustache, who hired only attractive blondes or redheads. We worked the afterhours parties for his friends-- no women- all old men who drank and offered us money for favors (which horrified us, not morally so much as we just though it was GROSS!). They often had a bellydancer, and they always got up and did that handkerchief dance, surprisingly graceful and serious about it. He was shot by his younger brother one night after getting a call from his mother that his brother had gone crazy and had shot his father and she was locked in the bathroom. He went over there and the brother then shot him. I always thought that was a stupid thing to do-- he left a wife and four small children. Why would you do that? Why wouldn't you call the police and let them handle it?
If you ask the boys what the worst thing I ever cooked was, they will tell you that I once tried to kill them with moussaka. |
