I love my dad

Once when I was in college I made a pitcher of ice water with lemons. My dad thought it was lemonade and drank a big glass of it.
“Yuck! This is horrible. You make the worst lemonade Christy.”
“It’s not lemonade, - It’s lemon water. “
Blank stare.
“You know, like when you go to a nice restaurant and they give you lemon wedges with your ice water.”
Blank stare. “They don’t do that at McDonalds.”
I thought my dad had to be the most unrefined person on earth.
This weekend, while in Durban, we went to visit Lauren’s sister. She is the chef of a nice restaurant downtown so we visited there for breakfast. As always, I ordered a “filtered coffee” and was surprised when I was served a tea cup with only a tiny bit of espresso sitting in the bottom. The rest of the cup was empty. I didn’t want espresso; I wanted a proper cup of coffee.
“Did I order it wrong?” I whispered to Lauren.
“No… This is Illy brand coffee.”
Blank stare.
“Do you see it here, ‘Illy’ written on the cup? It’s gourmet, so they dictate how it is served in restaurants.”
Blank stare.
Her sister leaned in to explain, “This is just a shot of espresso here. Then you have this teeny-tiny pitcher of boiling water that you add to make it as strong or as weak as you’d like. Then add cream and sugar.
“Oh…Well, that’s not the way they do it at Starbucks.”
Like father, like daughter.