Cultural diversity

Martin's family thinks that if he ever lost his job we would starve to death. The possiblity of me working somewhere more sofisticated than an H&M shop baffles them. The fact that we both have the same level of studies and working experience is largely ignored, and that baffles me. It should be obvious, since we met in university. But that, my dear, is called "cultural diversity". That's the real thing, not having a smiling black woman in the company brochure.

Martin's family recently celebrated a family gathering. I was way overdressed and underbriefed for the event. The women run around the kitchen while men (and I) sat in the living room. Alcohol could be smelled from outside (literally) and jokes flew around the fact that Martin was carrying the baby as opposed to his cousin, who was fishing while his wife delivered his son. An uncle held out to me an empty glass and (ignorant me) I attempted a toast, when he was actually asking me to go to the kitchen and get him a refill. Huge laugh.

So, of course, Martin's family thinks I am a spoiled decorative wife, happy to meet such husband material and I think it's time for them to get back into their machine and report to the medieval tavern they must have come from. In the meantime, I imagine my son going one summer from Sunday-church-Valladolid to Back-in-communist-time-Mohelnice, and I worry thinking the kind of questions he is going to raise. But that, natürlich, is called "cultural diversity". Unfortunately you don't really get ready for it in the corporate trainings. I can smell a business opportunity there.