Whenever I go to the Chinese place in the mall, I forget what kind of rice I like. See, I like the white rice with my food, but I don’t get a choice between “white” and “brown”. The people there call them “steamed” and “fried”. And I always feel bad if I say “the white one” because that wasn’t one of the choices.
So when my mom and I went there for dinner, I freaked out- as usual- and ordered fried. When the man started shoveling the brown rice into my bowl, I was too much of a wuss to correct him, and decided I’d be adventurous.
It actually wasn’t bad. I still prefer white rice, but the next time I forget what it’s called, it won’t be as big of a deal.
Oh yeah. I live a riveting life.
i have run into that conundrum myself.
I feel so crippled.
We need to hang out… soon.