I’m sitting in one of my favorite coffee shop haunts, owned and operated by a strict religious sect called The Twelve Tribes. For more information on this peculiar little group, check out the wiki page on them. The coffee is excellent; they brew it “blacker than death and strong enough for a horse to stand on”. Furthermore, they have never proselytized to me, which is more than I can say about the Mormon boys who come to visit my home. Speaking of Mormon boys, turns out they don’t take too well to slutty girls who answer the door topless. Oh well.
The men of the Twelve Tribes have similar scruples about me. They are not allowed to make direct eye contact with “outsider” females, which is hilarious to observe while they’re waiting tables. The ripe fruit of the awkward tree begs to be picked. So, naturally, I make a point of talking to them as often as I can and forcing them to look at me. One woman asked me why I cut my long hair off a few months ago. She quoted some Bible verse about an unmarried woman’s hair being her glory. I suppose, on that logic trail, cancer patients aren’t very womanly. But, I was taken aback by the insinuation. I am very happy with my newly shorn locks, despite the jokes of how “masculine” a pixie cut is.
The sect in my hometown runs a restaurant called The Yellow Deli. A phenomenally popular haunt among college students due to their 24/5 open doors, good food and a large study area. Every so often they’ll invite you to one of their friday night dinner and dances. Basically, they cook a big community dinner at their big house down the street, and participate in “Hebrew dancing.” Now, I’m not sure what that entails exactly, but from what they described it sounds very similar traditional folk style dancing.
I’m thinking it would be a fun date idea to go to one of these little gatherings. I recently started seeing an exquisite specimen of a man, and he’s quickly learning that dates with me will keep even the most brazen boys on their toes. We could dance, talk religion, eat good food and I could learn to sew their awesome “sus” pants. Women aren’t allowed to show their legs (hence the ubiquitous denim skirts) so they sew their own boxy gaucho pants to keep modest. I could care less about modesty, but I do enjoy comfortable clothing. And despite their quirkiness, the people are very nice and I wouldn’t mind spending an evening around them.
I wonder what I could learn. That’s what it’s always about for me. What challenge can I put my mind to? How can I expand my understanding of these thoroughly befuddling little people? I think it’d be a riot!