It was my older sister's birthday. We were both just barely past our toddling years. You know, the age when nothing is bigger or better than a birthday. Nothing is better than the presents.
She opened up the most amazing leotard. It was white, with a big brown bear in a pink tutu screen-printed on the front. She got the prettiest, most perfect-of-pink tights to match. My sister, Leah, looked so on top of the world in her new gymnastic attire. I remember to this day standing in the kitchen, by the stove, with the afternoon sun warm and bright beaming in on her, beholding her new breathtaking style.
I knew what I wanted for my birthday.
If Leah got a leotard, then by all means, I wanted a Marie-a-tard. Like, really badly.
My mother (bless her heart for not leaving any memories for me to recall of her laughing at my request) finally got it through to me that I couldn't have a Marie-a-tard, because they don't make them.
They are all Leah-tards, I heard her say.
My little world was crushed.
I did not want a Leah-tard. It just would not be the same as wearing my very own personal Marie-a-tard. It would not be the same. It would be entirely different. Therefore, I never owned one.
I was reminded of this today when I made fried rice with quinoa. I mean, what do you call it? It really tastes so much like fried rice: it's seasoned like fried rice, it has the eggs and the veggies like we like in our fried rice, we even splashed Worcestershire sauce in with the soy sauce because we like our fried rice that way. But there was no rice. I used quinoa. But calling it fried quinoa just makes it sounds so different.
But it's really not that different.
It's really ok for quinoa to wear these flavors.
Our Fried (Quinoa) Rice:
Like a Marie wearing a Leah-tard, it really is ok and works out just fine and makes perfect sense.
If you're not 4 years old.