Tuesday, September 1, 2015

I Can't Even Dumpling

I was recently in Maroochydore Queensland, visiting two of our oldest and dearest friends, Luke and Rebekah. They decided they'd take us to their favourite taco stand for lunch in Mooloolaba. Only problem is the place decided to open an hour late that day. I know this because my husband contacted the place on FB to find out why they were closed during their opening hours. We clearly forgot to consider that a Mexican food stand may be running on Mexican time.

Disappointed because - NO TACO!

We pulled ourselves together and toddled down the road to find some other food, and quick. My friend Bek is pregnant and we also had two toddlers with us. All three (*four) were going to lose it at any moment if they didn't get their lunch. My husband spotted a little hole in the wall - chinese dumpling cafe. I asked for a highchair and they replied by saying  they hadn't been able to find one in an op shop yet. I thought that was odd. Perhaps it was a sign of what was to come. We ordered amidst my son's shout's and wrestles for milk and me stressing that I had none. The owner of the cafe kindly brought over a glass of milk and all was calm again.

That is until our food arrived. I ate the first dumpling with no problems. As you would expect when eating dumplings, right? Well, that was not the case with the second dumpling. I bit into it and angry hot lava dumpling juice squirted up my lip, philtrum, and nose. I was so shocked by the pain that I buried my face into my husband's side, where I held my breath in agony until the first gasp of pain breath came bubbling out of me. Much to my own embarrassment of course. I couldn't hold it in any more. And then it happened, I got worse. I began crying like a baby in public. I was horrified, and hid my badly burned and teary face in the palm of my hands and sobbed. I couldn't speak. (You know it's bad when I can't talk).

When I finally got my wits together I whined for my husband to go and ask for ice, while I held a glass bottle of something cold to my face. While he did that, my son took off for the door so I stood up to go after him. As I stood, I grabbed onto to the top of my chair for support and it came away and crashed to the floor. I kid you not. The chair was falling apart before our eyes. That was just too much for my friends and the other table of customers. They miserably failed at trying to hide their laughter at this comedy of errors. I could see the humour too but could barely muster a smile. I just wanted to leave. Everybody eat your f**king dumplings so we can go, I thought. But instead of saying it I sat down, avoiding eye contact with any of them. I waited for my husband and friend to pay the bill and we finally left. I was miraculously no longer hungry.

As we went outside my friend Bek went to put her son in the pram and clipped her finger. Prams can be dangerous. She is now suing the pram company, and I am waiting to hear back from the same solicitor. Who happens to be world renowned for taking down small dumpling cafe's in court. Boo-yah!

So it was at that point in our crazy day that we decided that we should stop trying to live life like normal humans and just give in to the crazy... So I got a tattoo from my friend Luke. So what that he's never given one to anyone other than himself before. Risky. It was an old fashioned stick'n'poke tattoo and I love it.

*No dumpling cafe's or pram companies are actually being sued. That was the only fictional part of my story.


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