Dos Flautas por favor

In case you were wondering, I have a much better blog in my head. I take a ton of pictures- “for the blog.” I think of funny stories- “for the blog.” I find great links- “for the blog.” So what ends up on here? Nada. (Well ok, some of my stories end up on here but only a fraction).

Today I met Tim for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. My family has this thing about Mexican restaurants. We lived in Peru for 7 years and while my dad and I *tend* to be a little more fluent than my mom and brothers, we all can make our way through a Spanish menu and order in the language. In my hometown the standard Spanish class homework assignment is to speak only Spanish at a Mexican restaurant. It’s not too hard since we have a large migrant population in our county and they open great restaurants.

In Colorado we have more Tex-Mex restaurants than authentic restaurants so we don’t find too many places that have native speakers, or Latinos for that matter. One of Tim’s new favorite places is down the street from his work so we popped on over there today. That’s when I realized that my father has ingrained in our family that when in an authentic restaurant you MUST speak Spanish. It’s all I can do not to order a Chipotle burrito in Spanish (I’ve tried- they all speak Spanish in front of me and then look at me like I’m crazy when I talk to them).  I was looking over the menu at this new place and our waitress was definitely a native speaker. I was sitting at the table getting ready to order and had decided that I would order in English. I looked at the words on the menu, thought them in English, opened my mouth and out came Spanish. I actually shocked myself so much that I answered her next question in English (she continued to use English with me) and I followed up the next couple of questions with Spanish.

Although I confused my mind today, it was a nice restaurant with good food and I think next time I’ll just speak Spanish and not worry about it.

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