Culture Shock
by Edward Lee
“Give me
some Imodium,” his wife, Amy Lai-Ming, said
sick in bed. “Are you trying to poison me,
you stupid, spoiled westerner,” Amy barked.
Yes, Jeff
thought to himself. His thoughts drifted back to
the start of his hatred, their first nights
together after the honeymoon:
“Why
haven’t you cooked me anything yet?”
Amy said sitting at the head of the dinner table.
Jeff was
puzzled by this question, and said, he didn’t
know how to cook anything.
“Weren’t
you taught by your father?”
Jeff thought
momentarily his new wife might be stranger than
what she had led him to believe.
“In
Chinese traditional culture the man cleans and
cooks.”
“That’s
different.”
“There’s
nothing “different” about it.”
“I could
cook us some spaghetti, then.”
“Fine.”
Jeff mostly
ate out when he was single, and Jeff and Amy ate
out or had food delivered to them when they dated,
and during their engagement and honeymoon, but
there were some pasta noodles in the cabinet, and
tomato sauce in the fridge of Jeff’s house.
He whipped himself and his wife a once-bachelor’s
version of spaghetti.
“This is
awful,” Amy said, while still eating at a
fast rate of consumption. After she was finished,
she said, “Next time get a recipe off the
internet and cook me something decent.”
The next night
for dinner, Jeff suggested they eat out.
“No, you
must learn the Chinese way of doing things.”
“Let’s
just eat out, honey, we always--”
“You
westerner. I am a beautiful, precious Chinese
woman.”
“Yes,
that’s all true, dear, but why does that
mean we can’t eat out?”
“Ugh,
your mother and father spoiled you terribly. Cook
spaghetti. I’m ravenous to eat even a meal
such as that.”
Jeff decided
to give in. When they were through, Jeff, annoyed
by his wife’s complaints about his cooking,
“the pasta is too firm, the sauce is stale,”
made the remark that Amy do the dishes, as he was
feeling some indigestion.
“Jeff,
doesn’t it follow that you should do the
dishes? You cooked that abominable meal.”
“Hey, I’ve
cooked both nights, and I think we can compromise
at least on the dishes aspect of housekeeping.”
“No, you
must be taught and trained.”
“Why are
you speaking of me as if I were a dog?” Jeff
said crossing his arms.
“Why do
you equate what I’ve said with being spoken
of as a dog?” Amy said crossing her arms.
“Well,
precious honey, you’re using words like
‘trained’ and ‘taught,’ words
ordinarily used to speak about a dog.”
“Ugh, you
spoiled westerner. My mother warned me about you.”
Jeff did the
dishes that night and wanted to crack each one
over his head after he was finished wiping.
Usually when
things got heated between them, they made up,
often on the same night after their argument, but
Amy wasn’t having any of it that night, or
to Jeff’s dismay for many long nights
afterwards. And the build-up of work, cooking,
cleaning, a difficult relationship, all set the
wheels turning, as years later, the culture shock
still fresh as the first night, Jeff smiled at
his wife’s moaning, and indignant, “My
mother warned me. You stupid, spoiled--”
Before she could finish, Jeff left the room and
plotted his next dinner.
|
