"Muy" Thai Mother

Mommy came back from Thailand Monday; unfortunately for me I was pigeonholed into running the kitchen alone with some other poor schmuck in hopes that she couldn't resist coming in and, at the least, trying to work immediately, or bringing me back some souvenir in good faith. I don't think she knows me well enough for anything like that though - then again, how do I know? Like the Buddha said, "a generous heart is good for the right sort of people."
With that said, I think a proper introduction is in order. Mommy (pronounced "mumeeeeee") is the woman I work for, and who, for the most part, claims to be a kind of surrogate to me and the rest of the staff; and dear listeners, I must admit, to me, that is beautiful. Nothing brings me more joy than sneaking in a meal or two with her during a shift alongside her husband and sister, "Number Five," the three of them almost always being in the restaurant. Except for the past two months, in which Mommy and her husband have been gone to Thailand for whatever reason. There were nights when I just wanted to storm out of the place, saddened by the fact that neither were there, and unable to deal with some otherwise immature power struggles among staff and foremen. But, being the overtly chivalrous sucker that I am, I promised I'd stick around, at least until she got back. And I did. And I'm glad.
I can only imagine what I might say when I see her. Heck, I already know. I'll just shout, "Mummeeeeeee!" But I can only think of two responses that might come from her: "Weezee!" or, "Oi Na! Skinny boii! You still here?" Maybe she'll throw in an affectionate "bullshit bbeeeeeeehhhhhhhbee." She's done it before. She's a firecracker, that's for sure.
Mummy's the one who started calling me Weezee in the first place, a nickname given to me by sheer mistake and mispronunciation through an otherwise West Indies sounding English accent. When she did find out that she had been mispronouncing my name for a solid 2 months, she started calling me by my proper name - but only for a day. No one seems to mind though, not even the waitress she calls "E-mail" simply because it's easier to say than the actual name that precedes it.
It's 2:30 am now and I'm pretty excited. I was caught up in the anxious imaginary conversation I was dreading having with a Japanese professor in attempts to beg my way back into class, while looking at "Paderno" brand vacuum flasks (thermoses) at some kitchen hardware store, when I realized I would see Mummy, and "Daddy," tomorrow (later today/this morning, hopefully). Does that sound lame? Of course it does. But when you're me, these days you don't have much time for peace of mind except when working with the happiest old Thai couple in the world, and begging even them for some kind of frugal recipe. Speaking of frugal, I've made Mummy, and her husband, and "Number Five," and whatever other staff she happens to give them to, some poor excuses for rice cakes. Not as much as I would have liked to, but enough to do the job. She never really finishes all the things I bring her anyway. Still, if there's one way to show her (or anyone) that she's been missed, food's certainly the right way. The only thing left to do is hide them from her son, or prey to Buddha she's even there to eat them. Oh man, the kitchen's a mess.

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