When my dad was very young, maybe ten or so, he lived with his brother and mother (my uncle and Grandma) in a pretty little house somewhere in Northern Virginia. The exact address or even the right city has slipped my mind. Anyway, the house was very pretty, and my grandma always kept it welcoming, decorated and immaculate. She often entertained guests in the house, so she had to keep it lovely.

As part of my Grandma's home decorating scheme, she always had a bowl of aesthetically pleasing wax grapes on the table. Well, one day she had a guest over from India. He was sitting at the table with my young dad, while my Grandma was in the kitchen making coffee. My Grandma heard my dad giggling from the other room, and rushed in to see what was going on. The Indian man was sitting at the table with his cheeks full, chewing busily. 'These grapes are terrible!' he exclaimed, in a thick Indian accent. Needless to say, the bowl of wax grapes was missing several and my dad was in hysterics.
'That's because they are wax you idiot!' my Grandma scolded sharply. The man then quickly spit out the gummy remainders of waxy, green grape in his mouth, and his cheeks flushed deeply crimson with embarrassment.

The Indian man never came back, but his story has been circulating in my family for years. And my Grandma still keeps that same bowl of wax grapes on her kitchen table, even though they are not all there.