So, on Friday, we were at Oktoberfest with friends.
"What's Oktoberfest?" my friend Teresa asked. Yes, that Teresa, the inspiration for the mom in Lollipop. I adore her so much, I've got no words.
"White people getting drunk and yodeling," I tell her seriously.
"Oh my God--for real?"
"And wearing lederhosen."
"Leather shorts with suspenders and knee socks and really quaint shoes." Although I'm pretty sure the actual word only applies to one of these things.
"No. They really yodel. It's a whole contest, I swear."
"And they wear lederhosen."
"Yeah," I said. "And hats. And we sang 'Sweet Caroline' and did the Chicken Dance."
"Now you're yanking my chain."
Sadly no. "It's weird. It's like, you never know how you know the Chicken Dance, but everybody knows the Chicken Dance. The polka will start playing, and people just get up on top of the tables and--"
"You are so full of shit!"
"I swear! No, seriously. And we eat bratwurst."
"Mutant hot dog with sauerkraut. Mate got curried bratwurst, but it wasn't as good as the regular stuff."
"Okay-- I think I've heard of that."
"Yeah--pretty good. Their pretzels weren't great though. But I'm not a fan--"
"Of pretzels. Too much mustard. Anyway, so, yeah. That's what we did on Friday."
"And got drunk." Her eyebrows raised.
"No--but I did have a beer."
"You hate beer."
It's true. "Yeah, I know--I can't even explain it. It was like... like a requirement of something. I kept trying to give my beer to Mate, but he was getting plowed, so I had to pony up and drink." Well, I nursed. I nursed a beer.
"What in the hell."
"I am saying."
"Drunk white people."
"Was it fun?"
I grinned. "Can't wait to go next year!"
I don't tell her that in a drunken fit of sincerity, Mate pledged to his friend that next year we'll actually go to real Germany for Oktoberfest.
I don't think she'd believe that.
Even if we make it true ;-)