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I wanted to go to this place in Chinatown, but I know my mom hates ethnic
food, so I made a reservation at this tourist-y place that serves burgers and
stuff she would feel comfortable eating.
"This seems a little boring," she said when we got there. "Why don't we get
something a little more lively. Do you like Indian food?"
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Mom had read about this new Indian place in a food magazine and so we tried
it. I couldn't believe my mom was actually eating spicy food, since that's
not her usual thing. She's from Chicago, after all, home of the hot dog and
Ronald McDonald.
When we finished eating, my mom said she had a surprise: she had made phone
reservations at a performance art club. I sat there looking at her waiting
for the punch line, but it never came.
What is happening here?
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