Eating Pizza with the Amish.... 'cause I'm cool like that. Or a stalker. Whatever.

Seems like every time I turn on the tv, one of the channels that promote discovering new things or learning is showing another "real" Amish show.


Um, yeah...  so, the Amish have a Mafia.    Someone swiped someone's apron from a clothesline and now Levi is going after them with his Grandma's rug beater.

Yeah.

Yep... I am sure that all these people on these shows who have had police records for DRIVING A CAR while intoxicated or who have had Facebook accounts for multiple years are fresh-off-the-farm Amish.

Oh, yes. I am truly that gullible to believe those people are really Amish.

I also truly believe that the people on Jersey Store are naturally that color of orange.

NOT.

For years, I have been obsessed interested   no, obsessed is the right word, with the Amish.   During our cross-country road trips, we've gone into dozen of truly Amish stores.  Not the tourist trap stores where they have a radio playing in the background, but real stores with no electricity but skylights and a generator to work the cash register.  Stores where the Amish actually shop, too. I've bought Amish cheese.  I 've shopped in true Amish-owned, Amish-worked hardware stores with Amish people milling around buying their signature hats. I've bought their homemade jam and bread. And I have purchased dozens of cookbooks from the Amish and Mennonite community. Consequently,  I  now have a recipe for making bologna for 400. 

All I need is like five pigs' heads, an outdoor fire, and a metal tub the size of a Jacuzzi.

I'll loan the cookbook to you the next time you have a church picnic.  Or kill a hog.  Whatever.  

I've read books about growing up Amish. I know about Rumspringa. I've read books about the religion, the practices, the rules.   I checked out the use of straight pins as a form of fasteners for their clothes.  I know the name of that funny little hat the women wear.  I even understand the difference between the string being cut or hanging free.

Deep in my heart I know, if it weren't for my love of my iPhone, my Eagles CDs, and my red lipstick, I could totally be Amish.  Seriously.

For like 5 minutes, until they made me butcher something or work really hard, I could be Amish.   

Imagine my delight, when on a cross country trip called the Ashes Tour to sprinkle my father-in-laws ashes over our great land, we went through Amish Country in Indiana.  I was tickled pink.

I was excited to head  to Elkhart and LeGrange County, home of Shipshewana and Middlebury and LaGrange, the heartland of Amish and Mennonite communities.   I could envision white-covered heads, solemn colored dresses, barefoot children.  Long-grey bears, buggies, and beautiful quilts.   

I was vibrating with excitement.

When we rolled through town, however,  I was crushed. It was six o'clock on a Saturday.   Everything was locked up tight and the parking lots were empty.   

Except for the local Pizza Hut.

There were tons of buggies parked neatly around it.   

Are. You. Stinking. Kidding. Me?

I quickly proclaimed I was famished and only pizza would bring me back from the brink of starvation.    

My sweet, sweet husband seeing how important this was to me said we could stop for dinner.

I have never loved him more than in that moment.  Not our wedding day.  Not the birth of our child.  Not even the day his brain was scrambled.

Before he would let me go in, Big Daddy warned me that I could do nothing that would bring shame on our heads.   

No taking pictures.   Well, duh.

No staring.   Okay, that one was a little harder.

No talking to them.   Not that they'd talk to me anyway.

Just act normal.   Really???  You want me to act like I normally do?   Excellent.

Big Daddy shook his head then, realizing what he'd done.

I almost floated through the air to the door of the Pizza Hut.

I was going to eat pizza with the Amish.

We walked to the stand and waited to be seated.   I looked around in my excitement.  The restaurant was at about half capacity... everyone was Amish except for a Mennonite family and a confusing table that was half Amish and half English (what Amish call the non-Amish).  I was surprised to see CNN on several TVs around the restaurant.  Every Amish woman sat with her back to the television talking quietly to the women around them.  Every Amish man was glued to the screen.  

We were told the wait would be about 45 minutes.   

I said, "Great!" and took a seat.

I knew they were trying to bluff me out.    I knew they didn't want my tiny English family in the restaurant for Amish date night.     I knew they thought I would get frustrated and leave.  

They were wrong.  Wrong.  And wrong.

After 30 minutes,  they seated us at a table that had been empty all along.

And we ordered and ate I my pizza with the Amish.

As I listened to their Pennsylvania Dutch, I could almost pretend I was Amish too..... 

When I wasn't checking my iPhone or watching the TV or enjoying my jogging pants.