My mother-in-law, affectionately known as the Dragon Lady and the Dragon Rady, is staying with us for eight days. After only two days we’re already going insane. When she’s not watching Chinese Opera and Anita Mui on DVD at high volume, she’s acting as this white boy’s cultural ambassador to all things Chinese. Her cultural exchanges often consist of “did you know” type pop quizzes on topics that only 80 year old native-born Chinese could answer. Every time we sit down to dinner the Dragon Lady asks my wife, “Does he use chopsticks?” She’s been asking this for eight years. Apparently the fact that white ghosts can use chopsticks is beyond comprehension. And I don’t know how many times she’s given me the rice-eating speech. “Some Chinese use the spoon. Some use the bowl…” Even that is better than what I call “The Litany of the Ancestors.” I get to hear how handsome, intelligent, and hard-working each and every one of her ancestors was. Did you know that the Dragon Lady’s father was an esteemed professor and an advisor to Chiang Kai-Shek? Well, you do now.
The Dragon Lady has an impressive command of Chinese dialects. She can insult and piss-off wait staff at Chinese restaurants in Mandarin, Cantonese, Toisanese, and a number of other languages. Pissing off wait staff is not even the most interesting part of the dinnertime escapades. The most interesting part comes at the end when we get to wrestle for the bill. The Dragon Lady, although elderly, has some suprisingly quick check snatching moves. The arrival of the check is roughly equivalent to the Oklahoma land rush. Everybody grabs for it and won’t let go. The bill often ends up crumpled and torn. Even once I’ve handed the bill and my credit card back to the waitress, the fight isn’t over. Someone will chase her down and demand to pay instead. At Chinese restarants the wait staff is accustomed to this, but at other restaurants people think we are freakin’ crazy.
Paying for the check is followed by “securing the leftovers.” Leftovers must be placed in a take-out box and then rubber-banded with at least two thick rubber bands and then placed in three plastic bags. Only then is leftover transport deemed sufficiently safe.
The Dragon Lady travels like she’s a noblewoman making a transatlantic crossing circa the late nineteenth century. She packs several trunks. Her husband brings one small bag. She brings three trunks and a few accessory bags. We barely fit it all in the car when we picked her up from the airport.
The Dragon Lady can be fairly easy to get along with as long as you acknowledge that the Chinese are the master race and that the Dragon Lady is a Queen. She would probably be easier to get along with if we promised to give her her first grandson, but that ain’t happenin’. Fortunately, the Dragon Lady’s youngest daughter is pregnant. I hope it’s a boy so as to take the heat off of us. Unfortunately for the Dragon Lady, her youngest daughter married a black man. There will be no pure master race babies for the Dragon Lady. Damn those daughter stealing American men of improper race. Besides two daughters, the Dragon Lady has a number one son. Alas, number one son is a confirmed bachelor nearing upon 50 years of age who has vowed never to have children.
Six more days.
