Ha! I almost expect her to just come right out and say, honey, you don't know shit. I might have only met you a week ago and know almost nothing about you, but trust me, you can finish that chicken AND still have room for yogurt. When I stop eating she gives me this look like, are you kidding me? And I find myself wishing that I wasn't so full so that I could eat more, because I want my Spanish mamma to like me. This makes eating very stressful.
Every night for a week I tried a different combination of explanations in my attempt to express to her that I was utterly stuffed, but she really wasn't having it. She would look at me as if I was just trying to be difficult, then she would ask me to recite all the food I had eaten that day. Even when I embellished my report, she would invariably tell me that I had not eaten enough and therefore could continue eating. Then she would sit back in her chair (because when she interrogates me about my meals she has to lean very, very close so as to detect any suspicious, telltale eye-shifting or facial twitches that might indicate that I am lying) and return to watching the news. Glad we got that all figured out. Oh wait - we didn't! Because I am STILL FULL.
I finally asked one of my language professors if there was a way to get her to listen, and she told me to say: "es que no puedo más." I tried it that night, and - miracle of miracles! - it worked. She just nodded and took my plate away. What?! That was it?! What was wrong with all the other things I was saying ("I'm full," "I've already eaten a lot today," "I can't fit anymore"...)?
As it turns out, the "es que" part is crucial - this translates to "it's that..." which is important because it is a justification, which means a lot to Spaniards. If, for example, you want to reject someone's proposal for a date, the polite way to do it is to say something like, "No, gracias, es que tengo otro plan" (no, thank you, it's just that I have other plans"). Apparently this works wonders with both Spanish men and Spanish mammas.
A word about the Spanish grandma (because I have one of those too). As is customary for older parents in Spain, the abuela here lives in the house with her daughter and two granddaughters (and me). She spends her days crocheting outside on the patio, and, well, that's it. I have never seen her do anything else. Oh but she does have a rotation of subjects that she likes to talk about: 1) how hot it is (although when she says this it usually isn't); 2) Franco; 3) how crazy young people are. Any night that I say I am going out, she always asks me, "aren't you afraid to go out at night?" To which I reply, no, because I am going out with a group of friends. She thinks about it for a minute, then nods, as if I have finally answered a question that she has been wondering about for years. And then she does it all over again the next time I go out.
This was pretty much the extent of my conversations with the abuela, until a few days ago. After a run in a beautiful park down the street from my house, I hopped in the shower, happy as could be about my first time running in Madrid, and just generally pleased with life. I finished showering and turned of the water, and heard a voice in the bathroom with me. I peered around the shower curtain and saw the abuela moving my towels off the toilet seat. She looked up at me and said, "oh I didn't know you were in here." I told her that I would be out of the bathroom in one minute, but she shook her head seriously and told me that it couldn't wait, and then started lifting up her dress. I dived back behind the shower curtain, and then stood there, naked and dripping, trapped by this wobbly 92-year-old woman and her impatient bladder. Oh God. She's peeing... Oh God. She's ONLY peeing, right??!! I wish she had given me my towel... god this is so uncomfortable. Can I ask her to give me my towel? Oh, no, she's done... oh THANK GOD. As she peed, she kept saying things to me, which I didn't understand partially because they were in mumbled Spanish echoing off the tiled walls, and partially because I was far too distracted by the incredible awkwardness of my situation to pay attention to anything else.
The thing is, I think it was only awkward for me. She may have forgotten that I've only known her for a week, or perhaps she just didn't care. However, there is no word in Spanish that translates to "awkward," so maybe such feelings are simply not a part of the culture. I think I like that, but I DEFINITELY need to get used to it. I'm pretty sure that at home I said "awkward" at least 800 times a day, so it might be good for me to focus on some other aspect of life.
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