My parents are very popular this Kwanzaa season. They've been invited out to at least one meal a day for the past week and the invitations just keep on piling. Today, we ate with yet another couple I had never met before. I taught their little girl how to make an origami boat because well, I'm a giver. And an incredibly crafty one at that. I'm mostly cool with the fact that lately, my parents have more of a social life than I do except that my mother seems to feel that eating out so much excuses her from cooking at all. If she's had one big meal of the day already, well, why cook another? This has let to many noodle or dumpling dinners the past two weeks- the Chinese equivalent of having a sandwich of leftovers, pasta and canned sauce, or other fast food as dinner. In fact, since I've been home, I've had exactly one and a half warmly cooked homemade meal. Tonight, the three of us all had something different, a hodge podge of the different left overs found in our fridge. It says something about the food supply in the house when even the leftovers can't sustain us and we have to piece together a variety meal. They all tasted great, but I can't help but feel as if I'm living in a Dickens novel.
Moi: Can I have more rice?
Mother: No. We don't have anymore.
There's snow outside, but if you're reading this, please, send in reinforcements.
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