her aside and in a conspiratorial tone, I said, ‘Georgia, if you poop in the potty, Ama will give you candy.’”
you’re lucky to have a wife who can cook well and do it seemingly effortlessly.’
Cora nodded.
‘But I have no dessert to serve you. I like something sweet,’ she complained with a pout.
My granddaughter stared at my pants’ pockets. “Honey I don’t have it on me, but if you poop, I’ll climb to the third floor where my suitcase is and get it.” ‘Ama, can I have some now?’ she asked. I knew dinner would be served soon, and her other grandma was coming to prepare it, so I hurriedly clambered up those many steps and returned, clandestinely slipping her the Andes green mints, while reminding her of her promise with a wink and a nod. Soon Georgia’s other grandma arrived with a bag full of groceries, a rice cooker, and a lot of energy. Unlike me, her other grandma does everything in an accomplished way. She’s a whiz at designing, landscaping, travelplanning, event-organizing, managing a business. You name it. Did I mention she’s a professionally-degreed architect, a CEO, a stylish dresser, well-groomed, toned, thin and …a gourmet chef? Perfect. Half-heartedly, I offered to help. In the interest of good cuisine, I figured I’d better stay away. I joined her husband playing with the grandkids in the den while ordering my own husband to fetch the bottles of wine, Maxville, we’d toted with us. I prayed it would be tasty because my son’s New York in-laws are also wine connoisseurs, unlike us, who forget to sniff the Kirkland corks. Yet, I’m not going to blame the denouement on my consumption of the delicious wine, which paired nicely with the seafood dish prepared by the competent grandma. ‘Eat more,’ insisted my son’s mother-in-law. My husband hustled over for seconds or was that thirds he scooped out of the large wok?
After another guzzle of wine and before I knew it, I blurted, ‘Well. I have candy upstairs. I’ll get it –if you poop in the potty.’” *** “You didn’t say that!” Cora asked. “Unfortunately, yes.” “How did everyone react?” “Stony silence. Georgia looked at me, half-smiling. My son laughed. My husband choked. Finally, Georgia’s other grandma said, ‘I have no problem pooping.’” Cora and I chortled. The waiter appeared. “May I ask for a doggie bag for my left-over pork?” I asked. “You’re the birthday girl. You need dessert!” said Cora. She ordered carrot cake; I ordered chocolate pot de crème. My only glass of water was gone so I asked for more. While we chatted, he brought the desserts. He then mingled amiably with young folks nearby. We finished desserts. Again, I asked him for a refill of water. He left and returned with the bill. No water. Cora placed her credit card in the black folder which he then collected. I repeated my request for water.
‘Erika, you’re not eating enough! Don’t you like my cooking?’
He brought the bill which she filled in but no pitcher. The guy recommenced to jawboning with the neighboring table. I was parched. “Excuse me,” I said. “Could I have some water?” I pointed to my glass. He abruptly strode off. My friend, always a generous tipper, remarked, “I thought it was a good tip I left him.”
‘It’s delicious!’ then I turned to her husband, ‘Tom,
He returned and filled our glasses to the brim, almost
42 :: Sasee.com :: January 2020