Rainbow Garden

There’s this little Chinese Food place that my family and I go to when we get the craving. It’s not far from us, and it’s so much better than the big buffet-style places. As you can probably guess, it’s called Rainbow Garden. Their food is good, and they are very nice.

In fact, the lady who works there now knows my order without me having to say a word; I always get the almond chicken. It’s so good. She also knows my mom (shrimp with garlic sauce).

My mom and I stopped by there for dinner tonight after Community Worship and before we went grocery shopping—you know how dangerous it is to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach!—and we decided to eat in.

It’s a fairly small place, with about four tables, enough room to seat maybe 16 people. The woman who runs the place has a son who is almost always there, usually watching cartoons on video on a little TV. One time he was watching old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons and I wanted to laugh because it was such a blast from the past. Another time he was watching Star Wars (IV, A New Hope) and he had never seen it before.

So this kid sits at the table next to my mother and I as we’re eating. He’s not watching TV this time; he’s playing with play dough. And since we were in such close proximity, he struck up a conversation with us.

Benson’s—that’s his name—favorite game is “guess.” Remember those days? He said he was in first grade and then wanted us to guess how old he was (8, he just had a birthday). Then he asked how old we were. <grinning mischievously> I told him to guess.

“Give me a hint,” he said. So I told him it started with a 2. “Twenty-something,” he murmured. “Stand up,” he said next. So I did, wondering how that was going to help him. After a couple minutes of looking at me rather intently and muttering to himself, he said, “twenty-six.”

I was shocked. That is my age. Kids never guess that, not right away. In fact I had a whole class full of kids trying to guess my age last night. Some were wayyy off. Surprised, I asked him how he knew, and he told me, “I counted.” I have no idea what he meant, and couldn’t bring myself to ask. Sometimes those explanations are best left unsaid.

Nonetheless, it was an encounter that left both my mother and I chuckling. I find kids hilarious most of the time anyway; you just never know what they are going to say. Before we left, Benson asked us when we were coming back. And you know, I’m tempted to go by there again this week just to chat with him! “You can pick a day when you get home,” he told us helpfully.

Well, that’s all I have to say today. Just a (hopefully) amusing story. I probably could have blogged about the British guy who came in for coffee (and a “biscuit”) the other day, but you really don’t want to hear me go all Britophile on here. It’s so sad. But it did reinforce the daydream I have to move to Scotland one day, and continue my search for Mr. Right on a different continent. One that has British accents. *Ahem!* Anyway, that’s all for now. Go and enjoy life with the wonder of a small child…make someone “guess” something today. 

Singleness

This morning I went to church with my parents. Usually I go on Saturday nights, to Community Worship at Memorial Park. But my dad recently got a job at North park Church, and they wanted to introduce him to the congregation. And he wanted the family to be there. No problem. My brother Kyle and I showed up (thankfully) right on time and took a seat. I was looking kinda cute—at least, I was wearing a blouse, skirt and heels, which is a bit of a stretch for a jeans-and-tee girl like me.

So they go through the announcements and a testimony and a couple of songs and finally ask my parents to go to the front. My dad says he was nervous, but it didn’t show. He was cracking jokes and keeping everyone’s attention. And then he decided to introduce us, his “adult children.” Kyle and I politely stood to say hi to everyone. And then he said it: “And they’re both single.” I sat down immediately. The congregation erupted into laughter.

It’s not that I minded or that I was even mad; it’s more of the label that bothers me. “Single.” Alone. Unpaired. Yeah, okay, so I’m single. Really single.

And if you know me, or if you have read my profile, you know that I’m twenty-six. Twenty-six and single. Is that as depressing as it sounds? I have other friends from college in the same boat. Even a couple that are still living at home, like me. (If you read my earlier posts about jobs it should be abundantly clear that I do not make enough to afford rent and other utilities.)

Most of the time I don’t mind being single. I’ve lived with it for a long time. I like my independence. But I happen to be an incurable romantic. If you look at my favorite movies list, you’ll see a few chick flicks in there. I have more. I am a SAP. When I watch movie and TV shows, I hope that the main characters fall in love and find happiness by then end. I’m a “shipper:” I root for certain couples to get and/or stay together. (Sidebar: some of my favorites include: Sydney and Vaughn from Alias; Bright and Hannah from Everwood; Sun and Jin from Lost; Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione from Harry Potter; and Han and Leia from Star Wars.)

The Point: My Independence and my Hopeless Romantic-ness are quite often at odd with each other. Yes, I’d like to find someone and settle down. Yes, I’d like to get married and have a few kids someday. But I’m afraid I have too many unrealistic expectations planted in my head by my favorite sappy movies. I’m also afraid that some of the standards and things I’m looking for in a guy just aren’t ever going to come together. Deep down I think I do believe that there is a guy out there suited for me just as I am for him, whether or not he happens to be a Scottish, guitar-playing, intellectual, funny, adventurous Christian man. But some days it just seems like I’ll be stuck being labeled “single” forever. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to me, but it’s not what I’m hoping for.

But don’t you dare recommend E-harmony to me.