Uncomfortable Conversations in a Chinese Restaurant

Husband, kids, and I gather to eat lunch. Husband's friend Aaron, the one with bad taste in t-shirts, joins us.

Oldest looks at his placemat, which lists the Chinese Zodiac, and quickly finds his birth year.

"Do you know what?" he asks. "I'm a dragon. There's the rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, lamb, monkey, cock, dog, and pig. But dragon is the best. Cause dragons breathe fire."

Youngest, who was born only three minutes after Oldest, says, "I'm a dragon, too. Cool."

Oldest continues reading his sign's description.

"What does avoid the tiger mean?"

I read over his shoulder and say,

"It means to stay away from someone who was born in the year of the tiger."

"Yeah," Husband says. "Tigers are bad news. And you might want to avoid the cock as well."

"Avoid the cock. That's my motto," Aaron mumbles.

The waitress and I share an awkward glance.

"Of course, even if you don't avoid the cock," Husband continues, "we'll still love you."

Waitress hurries away and avoids us the rest of the meal.

"You were born in 1969, Mommy," Youngest says, still reading his placemat. "That makes you a cock."

"In more ways than one," Aaron mumbles.

"Mommy, I don't want to avoid you," Oldest says. "Even if you are a cock."

It's a small restaurant. We are way too loud.

"What is a cock?" Youngest asks.

"A rooster," I say.

"Aaron, are you a cock?" one of them wants to know.

I haven't heard this much cock talk since high school.

"Aaron and your father are probably dogs. Or pigs. Now eat your lunch and let's talk about something other than cocks."

On the way home, Oldest says,

"I wonder if George Bush is a cock."

We're never eating there again.