Banango Lit

One time I ate really spicy potato salad from a slightly overpriced Cajun Po-Boy shop. This time was yesterday. It was really spicy but underneath that layer of being really spicy there was something good, something very solid. Something that tasted good. But I got full eating honey glazed sweet potato fries, which were better on the surface but probably lacked any kind of depth. So I took the potato salad home in a little plastic container. My mom ate some of it. She could not see past the surface of the potato salad, past the spice. She threw it away. The same day my professor talked about a movie that he liked but his parents didn’t like it. It was about a wedding and the crazy sister comes to the wedding and my professor said that his mother said they should have not invited the sister. That she ruined everything. The sister is the spicy potato salad. It is abrasive on the top. It makes you want to throw it away but you don’t. You don’t and it grows on you and it is full of little intricate things that most people don’t notice. And then your mother gets ahold of it. Then society gets ahold of it and they want it to be bland. They want the potato salad to just be potatoes and mustard and they want the movie sister to not be invited to the wedding. It is not important then. The bland potato salad gets eaten all the way. The sister misses the wedding. But no one remembers the bland potato salad the next day. The sister is crying in her bedroom. I am still hungry because my mother threw away my leftovers.