| Tuesday, May 22, 2007 |
| Chinarella and the Fuzzy White Slipper |
Once upon a time, there was a gentle and fair young maiden named Rachel. Rachel lived in a chaotic city in a distant land, far far away. One Saturday afternoon, she was sweeping and cleaning (there are no ugly stepsisters, but her mother would be happy to know that my apartment is clean. I mean, her apartment...oh nevermind.), when she received a note on a mystical device that receives strange characters from far abroad and...this is stupid. Okay - she gets a text message. There will be a gathering at Ye Olde Durty Nellie's Irish Pub for the FA football championships betwixt Chelsea and MANCHESTER UNITED! HUZZAH! Ahem. Sorry about that.
Her rooms are clean and - thankfully - there are no mice or birds inside the abode to sing and/or help her dress, as that would be really creepy. She slips on her shoes, grabs her purse and heads out the door. Alas, she has no carriage as that would cost her 10 kuài and she is but a poor young girl (and her cool new electric bicycle is parked beneath the building, which is majorly má fán to take out...).
So she walks. She strolls along merrily (for about half an hour) and not long after, the pub comes into sight. She can see the bright lights awaiting her. But just then, the unthinkable occurs. She feels a tug. Then a yank. And suddenly, a foot that moves light as air - she has but one shoe! Whatever shall she do?!
She hobbles to her friends whom she has spotted at a nearby table, and when they see this sorry young maiden, they laugh at her shoelessness. But she scolds them for this malice and strikes pity and sympathy into their hearts. She argues until, at last, drunk Sir Adrian offers to find her another in the dark of night. Off he goes as Rachel chats with Sir Frank, who is at that moment partaking in a feast of hamburger and french fries.
Ten minutes later, he has not returned. Nor in fifteen or twenty. Where has Sir Adrian run off to? Thirty minutes passes and, finally, his visage reappears in the distance, triumphant. He sits down and delicately hands Rachel two plastic sheaths. Inside are white, fuzzy slippers.
White fuzzy slippers?! From the Kempinski Hotel? How luxurious! Sir Adrian, it turns out, found a former student of his working the lobby. How's that for guān xì？And so, she cheered on the footballers the whole night through in her comfortable-as-sin white, fuzzy Kempinski slippers. That is, until Chelsea took ManU in the end. At which point her overly drunk, visibly unhappy comrades decided the pub was too depressing and left for greener bars. I mean pastures.
The End. |
posted by Rachel @ 5:20 PM   |
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| In China, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups. The Chinese, who call this land "home," and the expats who migrate here. My name is Rachel. I am an expat. These are my stories. |
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