I woke up early this morning, brushed my teeth and combed my hair with my sturdy fingers. My hair still stuck up; I smeared a layer of L.A Cool gel on top of it. "It worked", I mumbled in front of a mirror and grinned. I put my shoes on, ran down to the garage and drove to the market at a quick speed. You may probably be asking, "what is the rush?"
I was anxious that a day before Thanksgiving, the market would be flocked by hundreds of people as the sun was moving upward. I certainly didn't want to consume much time wedging myself amid the crowd and yelled out, "how much is this and how much are those?" I completed my shopping spree within 30 minutes and felt like I won a trophy.
The time was 10 a.m. and what else is better than having a nutritious breakfast, including two eggs, some ham or bacon, coffee and bread. I love my toasted rye bread with strawberry jam on it. Very often, when a waiter asks, "What kind of bread do you like?" I always say, "RYE", but they bring me "White" bread instead. In the beginning, I kept my mouth shut because of two reasons. First, I was shy and ashamed that I couldn't pronouce the "R" sound distinctively. My complaint was only revealing my disability. Second, I didn't want to make a fuss and waste the "White" bread.
I contemplated, "It's not the way to solve the misunderstanding. I have to make them know what I want." This particular process that we address is called "communication". If the person doesn't know what I am conveying in words, we are not communicating. Therefore, nowadays, I will try my utmost to curl my tounge back touching my upper palate slowly and spew the word "RYE" out. If I still see a blur on a waiter's face, I spell the word out, "R-Y-E". I am commanding myself that I won't settle for less anymore as Americans always want to be No. 1.
