You ain’t even gonna believe this, y’all, I may be dumb, but I am not stupid. There are some things I just won’t do again. Yes, it’s true. I learn from my mistakes. And, I’m here to tell you that you need to take heed. I’ll never
say
“never” unless
I’m pretty sure
I mean it.I’ll never say “never” unless I’m pretty sure I mean it.These are things you don’t want to do…and

1) I will NOT drink tequila shooters again. Nosirree. I’m not much of a drinker, anyway, and probably can count on one two hands the number of times I have imbibed too much.

The last time I did was at a city function for a small town. My ex-husband was on the City Council, so in our finest regalia we went to a fancy dinner. The mayor bet me I couldn’t drink a tequila shot, so he bought me one. I downed it. He bought me another, and another, and another….I don’t know how many, but I didn’t have enough fingers to count them. Well, actually, I had too many fingers but somehow I couldn’t catch them to touch them. Mr. Mayor was amazed that I still acted normal (for me). I was able to walk right out of there and get in the car. I acquired quite a reputation that night for being able to hold my liquor, and I’m really not very proud of it. Of course, the drive home felt like a roller coaster at Six Flags, and we had to stop more than once so I could hurl. At home, I stepped out of the car and passed out right there. But, the Mayor doesn’t know different, and don’t you tell him. I never want to have to prove myself again. No more tequila shots for this gal. Jose Cuervo is not a friend of mine.

2. I love all kinds of critters, and will gladly feed them, but I’m not going to feed geese ever again. At a lake in South Texas, there were some geese on the shore. I thought I would be nice to them, and got a whole loaf of bread out of the camping gear to give to them. Up I walked to them, and started talkin’ real sweet, “Hey, y’all want a bite to eat?” Yes, those vicious monsters did. They began attacking me and biting my legs. One even went for my nose. Finally, I had the sense to throw the loaf of bread out to the lake and they rushed after it. I was able to escape to the truck. Gave new meaning to “Cast your bread upon the water.”

3. I will never, on my honor, stuff my middle-aged body into anything made of Spandex. I think there are probably only a double handful of people on the planet who should be allowed to wear Spandex! In fact, I think it should be outlawed. I don’t know why some women insist on wearing that in public, don’t they have mirrors? I’m not even going to put an image with that! If I did, my blog might get an NC-17 rating, just like Jessica the Rock Chick.

4. No, I will not sing in public. I won’t even sing The Birthday Song, if I can help it. Believe me, I’m doing you a favor.

5. I don’t care how pretty a sushi chef can make the plate look. It looks like dead fish, it smells like dead fish, and it tastes like dead fish to me. I don’t care if you wrap it in a side of bacon, you can’t make me eat it.

6. I will never take a dare from a teenager again. In my programs with the spinning wheel, I talk about natural dyes. One of the ones I discuss is the cochineal bug, which is found on prickly pear cactus and was used by the ancient Aztecs to get the color red. The bug was used to make the red stripes on the first American flag and for the uniforms for the British Redcoats. Michaelangelo painted with it (before he became a Ninja Turtle). Women smeared it on their lips (it’s not easy being beautiful), and it was used for food coloring (yes, if you have had cranberry juice, Snapple, or Hawaiian punch you might have gotten some “extra protein”).

I told this to a group of kids and they dared me to taste the bugs I had in a jar. They double dared me, they double dog dared me…it went to a triple dog dare. Well, I wasn’t about to back down to them, so I popped one of the bugs in my mouth and chewed it up.

You know how when you were a kid, the dentist would give out those red tablets that you chewed so you could see how well (or poorly) you had brushed your teeth? The bugs worked the same way, and I had just had lunch. It wasn’t pretty (and it stayed on for the rest of the afternoon, because it is a dye—duh!). But, the kids thought it was funny, and I was glad to make them laugh. They asked me what it tasted like, and I told them: “Chicken.” You saw that coming, didn’t you? I did that once, and I won’t do it again.

7.I will NEVER shop at Best Buy again! Oh, there was a time, y’all, when I would. I bought three computers, two televisions, a camera, some appliances and tons of software from them in the space of a couple of years. Then, I went one night to buy my stepson the television of his dreams. He had researched it for several weeks. Unfortunately, I had just moved to Denton. I had my new driver’s license, with my new address, but my checks still had the old address. Even more unfortunate was the fact that my driver’s license listed me as “Michele,” and my checkbook said “Shelly.”

The manager was called over to the checkout stand. She was a snooty little twit by the name of “Solitaire,” who was all caught up in her “power.” She decided not to let me write a check; she refused my credit cards; and she spoke as loudly as she could so that everyone could hear her trying to humiliate me. Solitaire was not playing with a full deck. I cut up my Best Buy credit card, and the store lost one of its best customers.

8.

I once wanted to get my face lifted, because I wanted to age gracefully. One look at Joan Rivers, and I know I will never want plastic surgery. People there is nothing graceful about that.

9. I once had a lovely leather couch. Then I got an adult cat with claws. Now I have a “distressed” leather couch. I don’t know whether I won’t get another adult cat with claws…or whether I will never buy leather furniture again.

10. I’ll never swig from a milk carton again. Nope. I buy Lactaid now, and it doesn’t go bad as quickly. But, it only takes one taste of sour milk to cure you of a bad habit for life.

11.
Nope. I’m never going to get a permanent again. That’s some seriously bad hair, isn’t it? Give me a break—it was 1983! You’re thinking, “What was she thinking?” Well, folks. I wasn’t.

12. I’m never going to do this meme that Simon at Freelance Cynic tagged me to do. I declined it when JennyMcb at J’s Thoughts and Musings offered it, and when Teamouse at TeaTime Ramblings asked me to do it, and when SusieJ sent it. I declined it about four other times! It’s not that I don’t love y’all for thinking of me…it’s just I can’t do it because…well, I don’t have to explain it.

13. I’ll never say “never” unless I’m pretty sure I mean it. On the previous twelve—-I MEAN IT.

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I had walked right past that dingy little restaurant many times as I made my way into the 7-11 store to pay for my gasoline. Somehow, it never seemed to beckon me inside. “A Taste of Pakistan,” is what the place was called, and a glance through the smeared windows told me that it was a foreign world, indeed. Little did I know that this “lump of coal” held a gem inside.

There was absolutely no ambiance about the place. It was just a group of several clunky tables with mismatched chairs around them. There were some posters on the wall (I assume of places in Pakistan), but not much other decoration. Obviously none of the people inside were Native Born Texans. Usually it was only a bunch of men chattering in language I didn’t understand and shoveling food into their mouths with their hands! Now, here in Texas we may not be the most genteel folks you will ever meet, but our Mommas teach us table manners!

I had no desire to enter this restaurant. Obviously it had nothing in it to interest me. Then, one day I had missed out on lunch. When I passed the open door, an aroma greeted me that made my stomach growl. Plastered in the window was a new sign, with a copy of a review of the restaurant by the Fort Worth Star Telegram.

Now, I don’t believe everything that The “Startlegram” tells me, but this was written by someone I knew and trusted. He had wild praise for the chef, a “Mr. Azzizz,” so I thought, “Oh heck, why not. You only live once, after all. Of course, eating this may kill me.” But, I walked inside.

I came smack dab face-to-face with a rather stern looking man. Actually, he looked a little bit frightening. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted wide in an almost threatening stance. This man stared at me, with absolutely no warm welcoming smile! He reminded me of a bear. Seriously! His shoulders looked as broad as he was tall. While he was actually shorter than I am, he seemed massive. His neck was as big around as a tree trunk. I swan, I thought that man had a wild animal tucked in the top of his white shirt! He didn’t have a “hairy chest,” he had a pelt! As is often the case with men who are very hairy elsewhere, he didn’t have much hair on top of his head, and that was covered with a skullcap.

Well, I think I’ve told you that I’m not shy. I smiled and asked, “Are you Mister Azzizz?”

He stared at me for a minute, and then barked, “I am AzZIZZ!”

I began to chatter, the way I always do, “Well, Mister Azzizz, I read the review that the newspaper wrote about you and this place sounds like it has some good food. I’ve never had any food from Pakistan, and I don’t have a clue what to order. Let me look at that menu there and see if there is anything I recognize. Or, maybe you can help me decide what I want to have, because that all looks Greek to me.”

“Is Pakistani,” he said.

“Well, I knew that,” I said. “But, I’m not sure what to order and I think I’m going to need some help figuring it out. You just have the numbers and the name written on the board, do you have a menu that explains it for people who speak English? I want to try whatever is the best that you cook….”

I kept talking, and finally I looked at the man and saw the puzzlement in his face.

He was shaking his head, and he said, “I sorry. My English no is too good.”

I giggled and said, “Well, Mister Azzizz, your English is much better than my Urdu.”

I could see by his eyes that he was trying to wrap his mind around my words. Then, realization dawned on him of what I had said. He broke into a gap-toothed grin, threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“You make joke!” he said. “I like.”

With relief that we had established a connection, I pointed to an item on the menu and said, “Would I like that?” Mister Azzizz shook his head. He said, “Is has brains. Americans no have brains.”

I cocked my head and looked at him for a minute, and said, “Mister Azzizz, do you know what you just said?” When I explained it, he once again roared with laughter.

“I make joke!” he said. “I like. Now, I fix somezing special for ZHHHOU!”

With that, he went to work in the kitchen and soon presented me with a marvelous looking dish of food. I said, “Could I please have a fork?” He looked at me as if he didn’t understand, and I thought it was because I pronounce “fork” as “fo-wark.” I made a motion as if shoveling food to my face.

“No,” he said. “Eat with Nan.”

Well, I looked around to see who “Nan” was, but realized he meant the bread! It just didn’t feel right, but no one else was there, and my Momma wasn’t looking. I started eating with the bread as a utensil, while Mister Azzizz stood smiling down on me. Oh my! It was heaven.

After that, I visited Mister Azzizz two and three times a week. I was newly single, and a plate of food from his restaurant was huge, so I could make two meals out of it. Every time I walked in the door, he stopped whatever he was doing, came and hugged me and said, “I fix somezing special for ZHHHOU!” I’m certain that some of his other customers got angry, because my meal always got cooked first. I wasn’t complaining. It was nice to be special.

Mister Azzizz and I developed a friendship of a sort. If no one else was in the restaurant, he talked to me. I found out the reason he had looked at me so sternly when I moseyed in his front door that first day. He told me that he had never met an American who didn’t treat him with prejudice, especially not an American woman. I thought that was a rather sad commentary on our society, and resolved to do everything I could to redeem Americans in his eyes.

On Sundays, Mister Azzizz made a traditional breakfast that would be served in Pakistan, and the first time I had it I fell in love with a dish called “halwah.” It was orange, the texture of cream of wheat, and sweet. I could eat my weight in it!

The next day, a friend took me to an Indian restaurant, and I saw halwah on the menu. I ordered it, but it was nasty! I told the waiter they needed to hire Mister Azzizz!

By Thursday, I wanted some more halwah, and I wanted it cooked correctly this time. I went down to A Taste of Pakistan, and asked Mister Azzizz to make some for me. He got a sad look on his face and said, “Sorry, I only sell halwah on Sunday.”

He went on to make another dish, something special for me, while I whined about wanting halwah. I told him about the experience at the Indian restaurant as he puttered around in the kitchen. When he came out to ring up my food at the cash register, he had a devilish grin on his face. I paid for my meal, and then he produced a small package and set it on the counter.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He whispered, “It’s halwah.”

“But, you said that you only have it on Sunday!” I said.

He laughed and said, “I only sell halwah on Sunday! Is special for ZHHHOU!”

Not very long after that, I moved to another part of town. Occasionally I still stopped in to see Mister Azzizz, and he always told me, “I miss ZHHHOU!” I missed him, too. Then, I moved to Denton and it was just too far away to go back.

A few months ago, I was in the area, and thought I would stop in to see Mister Azzizz. Unfortunately, the restaurant was boarded up. I sat in my car and, y’all, I cried. Not just because I wouldn’t get his delicious food. I wept because I had lost touch with a man who was a gem.

These days, when I see a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, I usually am adventurous enough to give them a try. There might be another man like Mister Azzizz out there. But, I won’t know unless I walk through the door.

Technorati Tags: Pakistan, prejudice