Sunday, February 10, 2013

I am a Stubborn, Balding, White Lady

I'm listening to mariachi music.

I really think I should have been born in Mexico.

Or at least (at most?) Cuba.

My daughter and I could successfully eat Mexican or Cuban food forever, with never the longing for a ball park dog.  You do know what they put in those, right?

I grew up in Florida, and for as much of a freak show state as it is, the food was unbelievable.

North Carolina is getting there.  We have a growing population of Latinos, which is really improving the way we eat.  There are a number of places that you can get fresh tamales, one of which is from a lady's trunk after Catholic church on Sundays.

I've tried to make tamales.  Pupusas, empanadas....I've tried them all.  I think I am missing one key ingredient that always results in dry, tasteless treats.  Lard.  I've not been able to buy it.  Not because I can't find it, but because I am not truly southern.  I may have grown up in Florida, which is south of the Mason Dixon, but Florida is definitely not the South.  And so, I have no idea how to bake with lard.  But lard is that ingredient that brings the mouth watering description to any good recipe.

Another reason my pastries are never right... I'm paranoid about losing my wedding ring.

About the only time I take it off is when I am kneading dough.  Too many times I have been told of how a ring was lost because it was taken off and put somewhere that ended in hopelessly scrounging through the garbage on the street.  So I don't knead dough very often, and when I do, I'm more concerned about the ring on the counter than how many minutes I've kneaded.

My ring isn't worth that much.  At least to a jeweler.  The diamond is probably 1/8k, and it has a big scratch right in the middle.  The value is where it came from.  It was my husband's great-great grandmother's.  The band, we bought. I had the simple band shaped around the engagement ring then welded to it so there wouldn't be any wear.  Then my mom gave me my grandmother's wedding band.  I had that shaped around the top of the engagement ring and also welded together.  So my ring is priceless.

I don't even take it off in the shower.

Because it is welded at one point, the ring has gained a strange and painful characteristic.  It has emerged from the goldsmith as both a ring, and an exfoliator.  I could market it. more will you have unwanted hair on your head! (read this like the sham wow guy) Just put this simple ring on and lather and rinse as usual.... in just a few short weeks, your head will shine like the baby's butt that your mother-in-law says it looks like.  Yours, for three easy payments of $39.99!

I will never understand how I'm not bald.  As I wash my hair, the part of the ring where the bands come together traps and yanks out chunks of hair from the root.  I imagine my head looking like a hyena with mange.

I think it is my grandmother's fault.   She was Irish Catholic, and never got over how I just sat in front of the Bishop, daydreaming and cracking my knuckles during my (her) confirmation.  I think she put a spell on the ring.  When I'm bald, she will finally be at rest.

...but I'll have the last laugh! ...I'm going to grow dreads!

but for all those white people out there.... you actually do wash dreads.  You just have to use a non residue shampoo.  So I guess my grandmother won this one.  Well played, Gram.

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