When Andy and I met, I had a two-seater convertible. Andy had an overpowered Ford Mustang. In his Cobra, Andy drove like a man on a mission – and the mission was to destroy every single stereotype about slow, cautious, incompetent Asian drivers. Continue reading When Your Asian Guy Fights for His Muscle Car Instead (#158)
Andy is a first-generation American, born in Hawaii. His parents are Chinese.
Having majored in dating along with history, you’d think I’d have been more aware of cultural differences. My first boyfriend was Sri Lankan. I’d dated several African-Americans, Latinos, a Brit, a Korean-American, a Hawaiian, a bunch of white Catholics, a Filipino, a Mormon, a few Jewish men, way too many military officers, and a Baptist. I think the only ethnicity and religion I missed was Middle-Eastern/ Muslim, unless you want to count the Moroccan at the Fairfax Holiday Inn who kept inviting me up to his room when I was sixteen. (Said Moroccan skipped reading Morocco’s own diplomatic research packet, which undoubtedly have told him that girls in Washington D.C. who wear miniskirts and red shoes ARE NOT NECESSARILY PROSTITUTES. Seriously, did he think the metal on my teeth implied dominatrix rather than orthodontics?)
Today I met my boyfriend’s family. I also discovered I was unworthy of my college gradation honors.
What kind of history major doesn’t do research?