I drive like a Mexican. I can parallel park a car in spot tighter than…well never you mind that, I can fit in a tight spot. I move in and out of lanes, and am aggressive in making myself fit. This past week I was driving with my special friend when I got a phone call that the champurrado I’d asked for was ready and was I going to come by and pick it up. I was stopped at a red light when I got the call and did one of the things I know best, I made a U-turn. My special friend was upset because he hates it when I drive like that.
We get to the house of the family that has the champurrado and I ask him if he wants to come in and he refuses. I go inside and find all the men of the house and some of the neighbor men seated at the table eating tamales and drinking champurrado. The women ask me to sit with the men and eat and drink with them. I don’t like this. I hate being served by the women and eating before them. I hate sitting with only the men, it is uncomfortable. I excuse myself and go back to the car to try and convince my special friend once more to come in and plee that I am the only woman at the table will he please come sit with me. Again he refuses.
I head back in and tell the women that he doesn’t want to come in. One of the women, my age, grabs her niece age 14. The woman my age tells me to sit down and eat, she is going to get my special friend.
With their persuasion he does come in and joins us for champurrado (he isn’t a fan of green tamales). However, at this point all the men are done eating and have left and it is the women’s turn to eat. Only one other man is left at the table. My special friend is still upset with me. He think I lied to him. He thinks there weren’t any men at the table (since there were mostly women when he arrived) and he thinks that I sent the women after him. I guess this is one of those cultural differences huh?
Everywhere in Mexico that I have been (not that I’ve been everywhere) when there are too many people the men eat first with the guests. The women serve the men until the men are full and the women are sure that the men are completely satisfied. It is then that the women serve themselves, eat and gossip.
I am not surprised the women went out to get him. I should’ve gone with them and tried to stop them. But what Mexican women wouldn’t go out and try to bring in a guest?! Oh I wish my special friend knew I wasn’t lying or trying to trick him.
Hmmm… women serve the men until they are full? I think I’m looking in the wrong country for a date….
*ducks*
“its good to be a man” i said this to my wife’s brother this weekend. i was being sarcastic, but he did not get it. i was trying to criticize the way he bosses his girlfriend around. thanks for the post. it’s true, men and guest do eat first.
“special friend” That’s funny. And very much reinforced.
The same thing happens at my abuela’s house, oh except my “special friend” (when I have one) has to get served by me first, then I can eat with him.
I never understood that…My parents don’t do that…but whenver my mom and my aunts get together for a party its always the case that the viejos barrigones get served first and after they finish then the ladies are next. Either way I’d much rather sit at the kiddie table..its more fun.
It’s unfortunate, but yes…it still happens. When ever my husband and I go to my Tia Sofia’s house, it is expected that I “serve” my husband first- I fight it, but he LOVES it…he likes going to my aunt’s home.
Take Care!
My boyfriend’s maternal family is Italian and the same thing happens there. It used to be that the guys would hang around the table eating, talking, smoking and the women would hang out in the kitchen waiting for them to leave so they could sit down and eat. I came through and said “This is ridiculous, I’m hungry.” I grabbed my plate and took it outside to eat. And then the other ladies followed me (the power of being a guest is that you can’t eat alone). They told me they felt “naughty” and when we came inside and there were dirty plates all over the table, I said “Oh no! We ain’t cooking for you and cleaning up your mess. You aren’t in a wheelchair.”
The guys think I’m funny because I’m fiesty, my boyfriend gets slightly embarrassed (even though he agrees with me), I feel like I’ve changed them a bit, and the women feel loved that their men help them out. Everyone is happy, for the most part. And non of this would have happened if I had been born into this family. I have more power as a pseudo-family member than I would have as a blood relative. But that power is quickly fading.