The Sound of the Shofar shall set you Free
I called over our very attractive waitress. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. My roommates T-Unit, Mr. Mountain Dew, and I were at Chili’s during happy hour for—what else?—the free chicken wings. Mr. Mountain Dew liked spicy food, but his body rejected it like mine rejected etoposide. He was sweating like it was the desert.
I couldn’t let him get away with it. “What can I do for you?” our waitress asked.
“I have a question for you…look at my friend here. Do you see the sweat beads dripping down his face? Have you ever seen that before?”
She stared at Mr. Mountain Dew eating his chicken wing, blushing equally as much as he was sweating. “No, I’ve never seen that.”
Mr. Mountain Dew had interesting eating habits. He wasn’t passionate about food like I am. He rarely put effort into what he was eating. If he got hungry he didn’t want to wait to eat, even if we were supposed to go out for dinner (unless our dinner would be free, such as at Chili’s). This, I couldn’t understand. “Mr. Mountain Dew, I went an entire month without eating anything except grapes and Ritz crackers. I think you can wait an hour.”
That line works every time.
Wednesday night begins the 24-hour Yom Kippur fast. When I was younger the fast seemed impossible, but now it’s easy, almost too easy. Not eating for a month gave me a unique appreciation for food and the ability to eat. As much as I don’t want to take that for granted, I do. Yom Kippur renews that appreciation, at least a little bit.
For the break-fast Thursday evening, I should take Mr. Mountain Dew to Buffalo Wing Factory for Flatliners. I hope he doesn’t drown.
I couldn’t let him get away with it. “What can I do for you?” our waitress asked.
“I have a question for you…look at my friend here. Do you see the sweat beads dripping down his face? Have you ever seen that before?”
She stared at Mr. Mountain Dew eating his chicken wing, blushing equally as much as he was sweating. “No, I’ve never seen that.”
Mr. Mountain Dew had interesting eating habits. He wasn’t passionate about food like I am. He rarely put effort into what he was eating. If he got hungry he didn’t want to wait to eat, even if we were supposed to go out for dinner (unless our dinner would be free, such as at Chili’s). This, I couldn’t understand. “Mr. Mountain Dew, I went an entire month without eating anything except grapes and Ritz crackers. I think you can wait an hour.”
That line works every time.
Wednesday night begins the 24-hour Yom Kippur fast. When I was younger the fast seemed impossible, but now it’s easy, almost too easy. Not eating for a month gave me a unique appreciation for food and the ability to eat. As much as I don’t want to take that for granted, I do. Yom Kippur renews that appreciation, at least a little bit.
For the break-fast Thursday evening, I should take Mr. Mountain Dew to Buffalo Wing Factory for Flatliners. I hope he doesn’t drown.