| Rain Man |
08-09-2008 02:39 PM |
I was 16 years old, and a Chinese restaurant opened up in town. I was intrigued, but it took me a while to work up the courage to go in, since my parents were meat and potatoes people. But one day I went in, and it was a classic Chinese restaurant in retrospect, turqoise leatherette booths and wall hangings with dragons and rice paddies and little Chinese villages on them.
An older Chinese woman motioned that I could sit down, and I sat in one of the booths. The restaurant was more or less empty. Then out from the kitchen came this vision of oriental loveliness. She was probably in her mid-twenties, perfect golden skin, impish little smile, and that hairstyle that's really cute where her hair is straight and then curls in just below her jawline. Her hair was such a dark black that it almost had a bluish tint to it, and her eyes were so dark that you couldn't tell the pupil from the iris.
She brought some water out, and some of those little crunchy wonton thingies, and gave me a big, genuine smile. She was quite petite, but also had some curves - not a lot, but enough to really catch your eye. I remember to this day that outfit - tight jeans and a white lacy top that was just low enough that you could see the swell of her bosom starting, yet not low enough to show anything.
I told her I hadn't been here before, and asked her what was good, and she recommended the mongolian beef. I had no idea what it was, so I said sure. With that, she sashayed back to the kitchen, her small, round derriere drawing my gaze as it langorously swayed back and forth with each step. Ten minutes later, she came out with a plate of mongolian beef.
And that, my friends, was the first time I ever had Chinese food.
|
