Security to the Estee’ Lauder counter, please!
When my mom worked for Bank of America, they used to do these walk-a-thon things for charity. One of them was held near the beach and surrounding areas, one of which was Fiesta Island. As we went along on the walk, my mom would run into friends and start chatting with them, and when the subject of the walk-a-thon itself would come up, she would leap into black woman vox and announce, “But I ain’t goin’ on Fiesta Island!”
That’s what I remember most about this particular walk-a-thon. Her code-switching into Ebonics and continuously proclaiming, “But I ain’t goin’ on Fiesta Island! I ain’t goin’ on Fiesta Island!”
Then we went home–in our car–and had to actually drive through Fiesta Island to get back to the freeway. And it took, like, 30 minutes. Just driving. By which I understood just why we wasn’t fittin’ ta walk ’round no Fiesta Island, and was grateful we hadn’t.
I think it’s amazing that we’re born with baby teeth. It of course makes sense, ’cause you’d probably chomp your tongue right off if you were a toddler with big ole ass adult teeth.
Whenever I’m in public and see a phone number advertised, I am briefly startled because I feel like I’m watching a movie and the prefix should begin with 555. Then I remember I’m actually in reality.
