Cross-cultural amusement

As Rach and I begin gearing up for next week’s trip to Marscon, Mark is making plans to break the monotony of our absence with a visit to his mother. They’re planning a menu of traditional Eastern European favorites. Mark returns from at least the third phone discussion of this extravaganza with this announcement:

My mother wants tongue.

He finds this conversation humorous because his mother has gone the extra mile in consideration: enjoining him not to get the aforementioned delicacy until Rach and I are safely away. “I’m sure Barbara doesn’t want to look at that in the refrigerator.”

Now, for the record, I’ve had tongue. Let’s just say I have texture issues with it and leave it at that.

But that’s not what has stopped me cold this afternoon. I just can’t get past the horrifying image.

My mother wants tongue.

Mark rolls his eyes.
“From a COW,” he says.

That doesn’t make it better.

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