You Eat Chinese Food at a Chinese Restaurant
The Virgin Can Be Scarier Than an Atomic Iguana (3/3)
For the celebration of my first communion, my dad took us to the fancy Chinese restaurant, Jardines de Confucio, or Confucius' Garden.
My younger sister, Rosy, came with us to celebrate my first wafer-cookie-eating event. When the waiter came around, she wanted to order the steak and frites. But my dad's new girlfriend, Leonor, told her that no one orders steak at a Chinese restaurant; "You eat Chinese food at a Chinese restaurant."
Don't get me wrong; my sister was hella annoying then. But by that time, my sister and I had already formed an unbreakable bond forged by all the shit our parents had already put us through at a young age. If someone was going to say something annoying and snobbish to my sister, it would be me and no one else.
In solidarity with my sister and for disillusioned divorced kids everywhere in the world, I also ordered the steak and frites.
But the woman who later became my stepmom was right.
At a Chinese restaurant, you order Chinese food.
I got very sick and spent the night throwing up.
When I was able to sleep, I had horrible nightmares.
In between bouts of fever and running to deepen my relationship with the toilet, I dreamed that "La Virgen MarĆa" was pissed off with me because I didn't come out to meet her the night before.
The Virgin and I were both in Cartagena, and she was coming from the bay. She was taller and scarier than Godzilla, which is easy when you are the same size as an atomic iguana but have blood tears running down your face.
She brought with her monsoons and tsunamis, and no one could escape her wrath. She was a destructive giant, but even scarier was all the guilt that only Catholics can feel or make you feel, which made her extremely terrifying.
So, in the end, the Virgin Mary still found a way to ruin my day.
