Maggot? Is That Yu?

In high school, I had a friend named Mon. No really. His name was the Rastafarian word for "man". His "middle" name is Git. Mon Git Yu. We used to chase him around yelling "Mon get you!" Because we were awesome. And 3 years old. Maggot (as we LOVINGLY reffer(ed) to him) is of course, Chinese. His family owns a Chinese restaurant in my home town. The best part of being friends with someone who not only works at, but whose family owns the place means that occasionally you get free food. Maggot's mommy was the queen of forcing us to eat, even if we weren't hungry. If we were to walk in, we got the line: "Ah, you Mon Git friend. You want some food? Some drank? Some fortune cooookie?" Without fail! Still randomly happens to this day. (Maggot's mommy is adorable. And we've heard only talks to Budha when she is drunk...) Last night, I went to get Chinese food for the Hub's birthday. (He's old now. 26.) I went to our favorite place around here, just outside one of the gates. After I ordered our "usual" (2 orders of cheese wontons, 1 sweet and sour chicken, and 2 orders of General Tso's chicken) the cute little old man behind the couter asked: "You want egg roll? You need egg roll. I make you one for free." And I can't help but think that some how, he must be Maggot's relative! **I enjoyed the egg roll very much. And did not share with my kids. Because I'm mean. And he said *I* needed the egg roll. Not them!**