"You want me to do what?" ~ Me to Roomate on Friday, August 27, 2010
Maria is who you've heard me refer to as my "Big Sissy Roomate." And Maria almost got her a$$ handed to her this weekend.
As you know, last week I was sick. So I would come home and pretty much go right to bed and wasn't really sociable. I also didn't want to get anyone sick. On Friday I felt a lot better, so Maria and I talked and caught each other up on our respective weeks (from Hell). On Saturday we had a cookout to go to (my brother from another mother's house) and were discussing what we were going to bring. And that's when it happened.
Maria asked me to pick up some effin' Monkey Bread when I visited Findlay Market Saturday morning.
I spun around ready to eff her up. Frightened her a little bit. You see, Maria's parents are in town visiting and there's a lot of Spanish flying around the house. I sorta feel like an exchange student. And I may not feel well and I may be very tired, but you can bet I've got my ear to the door listening for that magical word. You know what word I'm talking about. Starts with N. OK DON'T SAY IT, DAMN! Anyway, I'm told it's universal. And I haven't heard it yet, but now you want me to buy some what?
I asked her what in the ham sammich was Monkey Bread. And she gave me some line about it being sweet bread. I asked if it had banana's in it or something and she said no. And then I asked her why do they call it Monkey Bread. And she said she didn't know. So that's when I schooled the teacher.
I told her, "You can't take Monkey Bread to a black person's house. And you don't even know why they call it that. Why are you running around buying Monkey Bread and forcing black folks to eat it?"
She didn't understand what the problem was. Do you? Look it up if you don't. Anyway, to prove a point, I tell her I'll go ahead and get it.
The next morning myself, Kasey, her auntie and Uma (and son) split up after dance class and walk around the market asking everyone who sells this offending ball of yeast. When we all get together we all say in unison:
"Nay-Nay sells it."
I'm sure hoping Nay-Nay is black. Because if she isn't, she's in trouble and so is Maria. But Nay-Nay and her old man were black. We found them and bought the bread. Black people, can you imagine how goofy it feels to ask someone where you can pick up some Monkey Bread?
Fast forward to that night. Maria and I get to my brother's house and walk into the yard. Leslie what did you bring? Well I brought buffalo chicken dip from Findlay Market. Maria what did you bring? I brought Monkey Bread.
Marquitashua jumps up, "You can't bring Monkey Bread to a black person's house!"
I looked at Maria and said I told you so. Keith (my brother) comes out of the house. What did you bring Maria? Maria brought Monkey Bread. You can't bring Monkey Bread to a black person's house says Keith. How'd you like it if I snatched that sombrero off your head and started dancing around it? (She was wearing a straw hat.)
Later that night after most of the guests had left, the whole Monkey Bread thing comes up again. The Blackberrys come out and folks start going on line trying to figure out why it's called that. The best we could figure is that the action of pulling the bread apart resembles how monkeys eat.
But of course Leslie found something a little different on her Blackberry. Because these things only happen to Leslie. On Wikipedia she finds an entry. And we ALL know Wikipedia is true. And according to the gospel of Wikipedia there's another name for Monkey Bread.
African Coffee Cake.
I think Jody may have had a slight stroke.
Maria better sleep with one eye open. Tonight I'll be sharpening my sporks.
Speaking of which -
Best quote on my Facebook news feed today: "Why are there still forks and spoons? I mean, the spork must have been invented at least 10 or 15 years ago." That's from Mustafa (The Old Spice Man). We were meant to be. He gets me.
By the way you can thank Kelly that you even heard the Monkey Bread rant tonight. See there wasn't going to be one today. I'm tired, swamped, and having dizzy spells. Probably just stressed out. I'm going out of town again at the end of this week so I'm thinking about everything I need to do by then at home and at work. So I really didn't feel like writing it tonight. But it's because of people like Samad, who don't care how I'm feeling and just want to be entertained . . . that show me everyday why I rant so much.
Just kidding Kelly.
(No I'm not.)
That's all I got kids. Have a good night.
Love,
Leslie
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