Remember that story of The Good Samaritan, a man who stopped to help a fellow traveler, who was robbed, beaten and left to die on the side of the road? Although his actions were an inspiration to all, werent they kind of annoying? I mean, here's a dying man, waiting to meet his maker, and then this stranger comes along, slugs him over a donkey, bounces him along a rocky road, and pays an innkeeper, not a doctor, an innkeeper, to give him medical attention. Ugh, what an ass, right? Or am I just reading too much into it, and not looking at the bigger picture?
Saturday night, while I was celebrating the joy of actors bonding, my family was across town, celebrating my brother's friend's quinceanera. Also known as, a rich Mexican girl's self-affirmation that, yes, she is beautiful and popular. During the middle of the celebrating, my mother decided to get up and show off her booty-shakin' moves to the Black Eyed Peas, "Pump It." As my mother pumped it, she fell and broke her ankle. Since then, things have been hectic around here.
Everyone, from my mother's teaching aide to my next-door neighbor, from my grandma to the stranger my mother met at the quincenera, have all been calling my house non-stop, offering lunch, dinner, and even cleaning services.
Being surrounded with friends and family who care for us and love us, is something that should make me feel thankful. Thankful that my family and I are blessed with Good Samaritans in our life. But now it's starting to annoy me. When ya got four casseroles, three rotessire chickens, two lasagnas, and a pot of Spanish rice in your fridge, you have to wonder, can there too much of a Good Samaritan?
It also makes me wonder, what exactly has my mother been telling everyone these years? That as guys, me, my brothers, and dad, are incapable of providing for ourselves? That we would starve and become confused with the complexity of living, unable to survive without my mother's guidance? I mean, true, all I've been able to conjure up in the kitchen is small fires, but isnt that why they invented take-out? Isnt that why McDonald's developed the Dollar Menu?
Unsure of the proper way to say, "No" to good hospitality, the one person I'm having a real hard time dealing with is Ms. Deliccio. Despite her sweet and good hearted intentions, this woman comes to my house, always at the oddest times. And each time, she carries a glass dish of goulash. Like yesterday.
MRS. DELICCIO: Hello! Hello!
ME: Hi, Mrs. Deliccio.
MRS. DELICCIO: I just made a fabulous Mexican casserole with Frito-lay chips and chili! Thought you might like some! You're Mexican, right?
I dont know what was more disturbing. The fact that the casserole looked like Alpo and Frito's. Or that Mrs. Deliccio was a racist.
ME: Oh. Thanks.
MRS. DELICCIO: I made it for my niece's boyfriend's Sink-o day May-o party. He's Mexican too. The good kind. And everyone loved it!
ME: We dont need your damn food! It taste like shit anyways! I mean, what the hell is this?! Was Safeway having a sale on Alpo?!
I wish. Instead, it went more like this:
ME: Oh. Thanks.
MRS. DELICCIO: I made it for my niece's boyfriend's Sink-o day May-o party. He's Mexican too. The good kind. And everyone loved it!
ME: Oh.
MRS. DELICCIO: Oh, my! Why is there newspaper scattered all over the table? Is that mirror dirty? I'll be right back with my cleaning supplies!
How, please, how, do you tell people, without being rude, that help is no longer wanted, no longer needed, no longer appreciated? Or am I just complaining about something that's not worth complaining about?
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