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As I told you before in this post, my sister and her husband affectionately call me their adopted Chinese kid. Well, last weekend I went to an Asian restaurant and put that honourable title they gave me to shame. Both my friend and I, ordered  Raman, that if you, like me, are not well versed in the Asian cuisine, is quite similar in aspect to the typical noodle soup but, with different kind of noodles. Of course, as they do in every other Asian restaurant I have ever gone to, they gave us chopsticks to fish the garnishes that come in the soup, presuming we did know how to use them. Well, that is not my case. I just cannot do it. Several people, in several different languages had tried to teach me the intricate mechanism of using that eating device. It seems that I just cannot grasp the concept, so I tried, and tried, and tried again unsuccessfully to eat my soup.

My friend, that did know how to use them, took pity on me, and between laughs (really loud ones I must say), asked the waitress for a fork. She looked at me with disdain and brought me the fork. I finally was able to eat the damned soup ( sorry for my language, but I was quite frustrated at that time). All the waiters were still looking at me and laughing. But that say, the one with these words, “he who laughs last laughs best”, became true, as the same waitress was not able to open a simple juice bottle. Ja!

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