Chai

Of course I hate chai. The tea. You people all probably love it. But I loathe it on principle. I swear I do. The other night, Casey took me to this Indian place where all the waiters were hot. What is it with beautiful men lately? Have you noticed? They're all over the place. It really makes me question my queer-mo-ness, and that is not ok. Dear Beautiful Men, Please stay away so that I cannot see your girly faces and become confused. Love, Me.

After dinner, Casey ordered a cup of chai from our hot waiter who (further confusion!) smelled really fucking good. Since Casey is not aware of my distaste for all quirky-cool things (food trucks, knitting, etc.), she asked if I wanted a sip. Poor Casey. She was trying to please the part of me that always wants to drink other people's drinks, not realizing she'd offend the anti-quirky-cool part of me. But! Offended, I was. I was so opposed to the idea of drinking chai that I almost stood up from my chair! And if I am averse to anything more than quirky-coolness, it is standing up from one's chair. Because I spend all day saying, in a variety of tones and volumes, "sit in your chair, Alexander." "Sit in your chair, Michael." (Usually boys need telling. Girls are much better at staying in their chairs.) "Yes, I will pass back your papers, Matthew, but I will do nothing of the sort until you sit in your sodding chair." "Sit in your chair, Ari." (Five year-old son, twelve-year-old student--what's the difference? They all need to sit in their chairs. Children!) "Sit in your chair, Joseph." I always say "sit in your chair", never "sit down" or some other variation. I like the way it ascribes ownership. I like that it takes longer to say. Plus of course, if you tell a twelve-year-old to "sit down" he will choose the most ridiculous place possible to sit--like on the top of the bush out the damn window, for Christ's sake. "Sit in your chair, Edward. Christopher, you, too. Sit. in. your. goddamn. chair!" I actually don't curse at them, but this is my blog, and I'll say what I want, bitches.

The new thing in naming is to not use nicknames. I find it very stilted, but what can I do? Joseph wants to be called Joseph. Edward wants to be Edward. Jonathan wants to be Jonathan, and Samuel wants to be Samuel. Meanwhile, Elizabeth wants to be Elizabeth, and Madeline wants to be known as Madeline, Nathaniel is under no circumstances to be called Nate, and Ezekial is certainly not Zeke, and so on. Crazy, right? Kids today.

Back to the chai. I told Casey "no, thank you." Then she said, "oh, but you must. It's really good here." I said to her, "I do not like chai." This is the part where I almost stood up. I was beginning to feel threatened, and I didn't want to get into a Green Eggs and Ham Situation -- running all over a train in the rain and hanging with mouses in houses and foxes in boxes and crap. I am too tired for all of that mess. Furthermore, that Sam-I-am obvs needs to come to grips with wanting to be called Samuel. That's clearly his real problem. It is so not about the damn eggs. 

So I was about to stand up from my chair, but then Casey grabbed my arm and said, "don't go!" I didn't want to make a scene over a cup of tea, for Heaven's sake. So I sat in my chair. Then she said, "oh, please" or something like that, and I didn't want it to become A Thing, especially after the "don't go!" so I drank the stupid stuff. Peer pressure. Imagine my surprise when it was good enough to warrant a second sip. Then a third, and then! A declaration: "this is good," I said. "Is it always like this?" Evidently it is. Hmm. I may have to drink chai and lie about what it is to keep my street cred as a hater. Anyway, as I told Casey, "it's like drinking meat -- all earthy and gamey." Have you people noticed? It is! I drank all of Casey's chai, but she was a good sport about it. I mean: it was all her fault.
The end.