Debra Zeit

Oh that Debra. She’s not another woman but she might as well be. She’s stolen the boyfriend from me. He’s with her while I’m at home. Maybe I can plead with her like Dolly pleaded with Jolene.

He talks about you in his sleep and there’s nothing I can do to keep from crying when he calls your name “Debra”.
And I can easily understand how you could easily take my man but you don’t know what he means to me, Debra.

Or not.

It’s a glorious extra long weekend thanks to the Orthodox Christian’s devoutness to Fassika aka Easter. But with no boyfriend to enjoy it with and a serious lacking of friends, I find myself cruising the internet bitterly reading music reviews while longing for my typical weekend morning routine of a mug of tea and some downloading. Instead I’m replacing the need with burned cds my little brother sent me.

This weekend will prove to be an all weekend his-family extravaganza. Fasting is over and here comes the sheep. I’m sure there will be the running joke with his dad about me eating raw meat, which will never happen. His mom will be asking “mino?” when I don’t pile up my plate three times. “Bi eubakesh, eubakesh.”

Ethiopian hospitality is beyond amazing and requires me to think up new and different ways of politely saying no. I’ve never eaten this much in my life and I’m doing it in Ethiopia of all places. Ethiopian hospitality is the equivalent of having an Italian grandmother who wonders if you’re on a diet because you only took two giant helpings. If only it was all yummy pasta.

There’s a slight breeze. Time to move this one lady party outside.