Dear diary,
Oh, mushrooms. They’re the ones that started this all. You see, I woke up at about seven this morning and helped Grandmamma prepare for breakfast. We had traditional mushroom pancakes, which were really slices of thin white mushrooms coated with flour and sizzled in a pan. They become crispy and golden and are really delicious. Grandmamma worked very hard, and finally breakfast was ready. Belinda and Eunice came out yawning—though to do Belinda justice, she did help by waking Eunice up and finishing folding up the rest of the blankets—and sat down to eat.
Now Eunice is known for her deep antipathy against mushrooms, and no sooner had she seen the breakfast dish than she exploded in acid English complaints and howls of annoyance. I was privately very thankful that Grandmamma could only speak Korean and not understand English, for I am certain she would be very injured if she could hear half the hatred poured out on her mushrooms. Nevertheless, I was really anxious that she should not see Eunice’s ungrateful exclamations against her cooking, and gave her a pretty sharp reprimand and a bowl of stew instead. Grumbling heartily, Eunice picked at her food, and finally relenting a little said,
“Bella, pick out the yummy mushrooms for me.”
Belinda raised her eyebrows and said rather coolly, “O no, you can pick them out for yourself.”
“Fine!” Eunice cried loudly and indignantly; “Hush!” said I.
“Belinda won’t let me eat the mushrooms,” she explained accusingly.
“What nonsense,” I said, “she merely said for you to pick them out herself.”
Eunice had recourse to her favorite word when unable to think of any other way to express her dissatisfaction—“Humph!”
“Nobody requires you to force down these delicious mushrooms,” I said coldly, for I was growing strongly irritated at her ungratefulness when poor children were starving all over the world this instant. “Drink up this stew instead if you wish. We shan’t force you.”
You know, diary, I think complaining and whining about perfectly healthy and edible food is one of the most trivial and petty, yet despicable sins. If I ever have a child, and that child behaves in this way, I would rather send her away from the table and starve her from the meal rather than let her indulge in such wicked whining. I can understand disliking certain really slimy or uncommon foods they never ate before—like, some people dislike sushi, and some dislike clams, and some dislike raw meat. But they should be grateful nonetheless, and if they really can’t bring themselves to enjoy it, they should at least not flaunt their anger—as if they had anything to be angry about!—to the world. ’Tis ungrateful, irritating, and very rude, methinks.
Anyway, after a few minutes, Eunice said in a slightly softened voice, “I’m sorry, Belinda.”
Belinda replied good-humoredly, for she has a fairly sweet temper, “It’s all right. Come, I’ll pick out the yummy ones for you.”
Eunice’s twisted and angry brow began smoothing into more placidity when our father came out, yawning and stretching.
“O my! Why is the baby sulking?” he asked loudly in Korean.
“Hush!” I said quickly, for really I couldn’t explain the whole cause and effects of Eunice’s anger now. It was a delicate situation: Eunice seemed verging on getting angry again (ungrateful, silly child), and Grandmamma glanced over at Eunice with a faintly puzzled look.
“But why? Why is she scrunching up her face so ugly?” he asked again, even more loudly, and still in Korean.
“Because of the mushrooms! You know she hates mushrooms!” I replied hastily in English, and rather irritably too, I confess.
“O my,” he replied, getting his dish of rice and sitting down and twiddling his chopsticks. He smiled teasingly at Eunice and said in a mocking voice, “My little one is quite grumpy to-day! Is it because of her e-ne-my, mushrooms?”
Eunice huffed loudly and began growling and writhing all over. Grandmamma’s eyebrows shot up. I wanted to kick both Eunice and my father under the table, but merely replied in English, “YES. I already told you. Now PLEASE STOP PROVOKING EVERYONE.”
Unfortunately my father didn’t listen. He continued asking and persisting in the subject of mushrooms, until, to my extreme mortification, Grandmamma came up and asked in her gentle voice, “Whether Eunice was angry because of her mushrooms?”
“Eat the crispy flour parts, then, Eunice,” she said softly, “they are very delicious and very good.”
“But they aren’t healthy,” objected Belinda, snipping off a piece of mushroom and slipping it into Eunice’s mouth. “She should eat mushrooms.”
“That’s my good girl,” continued Grandmamma sweetly. “Mushrooms are some of the healthiest vegetables.”
“Mushrooms are some of the healthiest v—” began my father.
“She already said that,” I flared out. I was getting absolutely sick of the subject of mushrooms. My father looked angry as well.
“Can’t I even ask a question here?” he snarled.
I now saw that he was not repeating her statement, as he usually does, but was beginning to ask a question. However, I was still much too annoyed by his tactlessness and that the injury was done to speak in temper, and I snapped, “No you can’t! And there’s no need to speak about mushrooms again and again!”
“Why not? It’s MY house, isn’t it? Why should we all be in fear and trembling of Eunice?”
“I do not care one whit about Eunice’s feelings,” I said in a fury of broken English, “it’s because I care about Grandmamma, who has worked so hard this morning to be repaid by such ungratefulness!”
“What?” he asked loudly in perfect Korean. “할머니 (grandmother) is not such a great crabpatch as to care about that!”
I was enraged. I really believed, and I am still half convinced, that he spoke in Korean wholly to make me angry. I flew out in great agitation, “Will you please shut your mouth?” and left the breakfast table.
And now, dear, you who know so well how much I despise swearing, and coarseness, and vulgarity, and even the words shut up, may imagine how vexed I was that I had flown out with such ill-mannered words to my own father; yet I was still really angry at him for his tactlessness and carelessness of Grandmother’s feelings. I am also very angry at Eunice, who began the whole job with her rant about mushrooms and didn’t help set the breakfast table, or fold the bed, or anything but come out, yawn, and complain. Grandmamma I am ashamed to face; Belinda is the only one I can think of with any complacency, for her quiet sense and kindness is something I can always depend on. I am, however, rather annoyed at how gently she treats Eunice, and even compliments her softly on her goodness in finishing off a few mushrooms.
I really don’t know what to think or say. I blame myself for my ill manners and my inability to treat my father with respect, and yet, my dear, I cannot but blame my sister and my father for their want of delicacy. In short – my morning has not been a very pleasant one.
So what should I do? Apologize to my father? Beat up Eunice? (No, that isn't an option :P) Or...ideas?
