Daddy wanted to try Ethiopian... because there was a Groupon for it.
I was very okay with this because there's been an Ethiopian food-shaped hole in my life since leaving this behind. It couldn't compare (that's putting aside the tension between Dad and waitress due to mis-communication.. I wish I could tell you this was not a regular occurrence), but I was still pleasantly satisfied.
I could eat that injera like a bag of potato chips (also, baked Lay's are actually not as good as I once thought... but I digress). The injera "salad" was my favorite part. I couldn't really tell you what else we ordered (because I was faithfully playing Candy Crush while waiting for Dad to decide - yes, I do have a problem), but if you get the Groupon, you could get a good sampling of everything.
To go along with our theme of risk, rejection is not a nice feeling. Duh, you might say.
After feeling my heart nearly explode while logging into my account to read the sad lonely message in my inbox, I realized even being 'prepared' for rejection is not enough preparation for rejection. I don't know whether to think it fortunate or regrettable that I've never faced this kind of rejection (of the I-really-really-wanted-this-and-even-though-I-convinced-myself-that-I-wouldn't-get-it-part-of-me-could-still-picture-that-beautiful-congratulatory-email kind) in my now 22 years of life. Not a testament to my ability at all. It's because I always play it safe, finding that one excuse that would make me under-qualified and letting it go for something that might be more manageable. Lesson learned too late, and living in a perpetual day dream isn't actually living.
To go along with our theme of risk, rejection is not a nice feeling. Duh, you might say.
After feeling my heart nearly explode while logging into my account to read the sad lonely message in my inbox, I realized even being 'prepared' for rejection is not enough preparation for rejection. I don't know whether to think it fortunate or regrettable that I've never faced this kind of rejection (of the I-really-really-wanted-this-and-even-though-I-convinced-myself-that-I-wouldn't-get-it-part-of-me-could-still-picture-that-beautiful-congratulatory-email kind) in my now 22 years of life. Not a testament to my ability at all. It's because I always play it safe, finding that one excuse that would make me under-qualified and letting it go for something that might be more manageable. Lesson learned too late, and living in a perpetual day dream isn't actually living.
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