N and I decided to have lunch at a local restaurant today. It turned out that half of the waiters at that place are my students. This made it impossible for me to have an enjoyable meal because I felt that I needed to set a good example with everything I did.
I was going to have a hamburger but, instead, chose a salad.
I did not even consider having a glass of wine.
I kept my elbows off the table.
And I paid the check even though it was N.’s turn because that was an important feminist lesson.
I also had to answer the question that haunts me in nightmares: “So how do you say. . . in Spanish?”
As much as I love eating out, a quiet meal at home where I can eat all I want, drop food all over myself and avoid translating everything into Spanish seems quite attractive.