The definition of High Maintenance

I went with Dochechka to pick her Mamichki up from the airport last night. Afterwards, the three of us went to dinner. What ensued is not at all atypical of an evening out with Mamichki. She’s like a second mother to me, so I mean this in a very loving way: Mamichki can be a royal pain. And if Dochechka ever gets a bit grumpy or indecisive, I just remember that she got half her chromosomal matter and all of her mitochondrial matter from this woman…

Mamichki looked fleetingly at the menu and then tossed it over by Dochechka, “You peek for me. I dun’t know vhat I vant.”

“Ok. Well, what do you feel like?”

“I dun’t know. You peek.”

“Ok. You want the duck?”

“No.”

“You want the Ahi Tuna?”

“No. I don’t vant ze fish.”

“Okaayyyy. The Shrimp?”

“NO! I don’t vant ze FISH! I had big fish vhen I was in ze Spain…you cean’t even imagine how big! No fish!”

“Well, shrimp isn’t really fish, but ok. How about the chicken?”

“Fine. I vill have ze shrimp.”

“Are you sure? Is that what you want?”

“No. I dun't know.”

“Well, Mamichki, why don’t you look at the menu and pick something out for yourself.”

Without looking at the menu, “Fine. I vill have ze chicken.”

“Good. Ok.”

Mumbling under her breath, “But I dun’t really vant ze chicken…”

“Mamichki, just look at the menu!”

“No! You peek for me!! Why you don’t order me same sing as vhat you get?”

“Because I’m having the tuna.”

“I don’t VANT FISH!”

“I KNOW!”

Blissfully unaware the potential peril of entering the conversation, the waiter arrived, “Are you all just about ready for me to take your order?”

“Yes," I said. "She’ll have the duck."