The boy and I have this running joke about our kitchen window, which is actually starting to include the entire kitchen. When we first moved in I decided to make the space extra cozy--by my standards. I figured since I would be spending a decent amount of time in there cooking, cleaning and doing dishes that welllll it should be filled with things I like to see. What started with a few small nick nacs, religious candles and incense, quickly became a SHRINE. And being the latin girl shacked up with a white boy that I am, naturally I started to worry about the guero's response.
He started first with just a few raised eyebrows as he carried his MICROWAVED quesadilla into the living room. Then there was the one raised eyebrow with one very low eyebrow as he stood at the sink, finishing a bottle of water. And then finally over preparing some homemade pizzas, he asked, "why does our kitchen look like a taxi cab?" And we both immediately started cracking up. " I KNEWWW you didn't like it!!! " I gurgled between laughs. "I'm just kidding!" he replied. "No but seriously why does it?" and again profuse laughter ensued. That's one of his "things." He loves to joke about the little curly haired latin girl and her white boy bf, while being as politically incorrect as possible. So I went on to explain my developing love for Tchotchkies or CHACH-kee's.
For those who don't know, the definition of a Tchotchke is as follows : (taken from Wikipedia)
Tchotchke (Typically pronounced "CHACH-kee") are small toys, gewgaws, knickknacks, baubles, lagniappes, trinkets, or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness[1][2], and has long been used by Jewish-Americans and in the regional speech of New York City.
"WHATEVER! my crazy little angry Chiquita banana." he said lightly, while kissing my forehead in condescension. And from this point on I made it a point to actively seek and acquire as many Tchotchkies as humanly possible.
And one of my all time most favorite places in all the WORLD to get Tchotchkies is the .99 cent store. Which also happens to be the third level of hell, according to the boy. He absolutely HATES HATES HATES the .99 cent store. With unfettered passion! It's safe to assume that he would rather chew broken glass than spend any length of time in the .99 cent store. But of course, loving me, where did we end up a couple days ago? The .99 cent store!! We rushed through the long lines of screaming babies, Spanish somethings being YELLED out over the crowd, a crackling intercom speaker and bad elevator 80's music. And just as he thought we were out, right before we hit the door, low and behold....
the most gloriously pensive looking, ceramic-frog Tchotchke I have ever laid eyes on! "oooooh?" I groaned in pure sad face at the boy. He looked over the now avalanche of lines pouring into the aisles. >>>>longest sigh imaginable<<<<< " FINE! HURRY! get back in line! HURRY!" he yelped. And as the swaddled child in front of me tipped over an ocean of animal crackers onto the conveyor belt in slow mo, I looked over at the boy. Helpless, waiting like a gentleman, he stood tall. I thought to myself, "THAT is true love."
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