Shorlty after I was born, the nurse brought me in to my mom.  She shared hospital room with an asian woman who also just had a little bundle of joy.  Upon seeing my chubby cheeks and thick tuft of straight black hair sticking straight out of my head, my mom's roommate exclaimed,

"Oh, there's my baby!"

The nurse paused.  Everyone looked at me.  Upon closer inspection of my hair and face, neither mom was sure.  The nurse had to unwrap my swaddle cloth to check my bracelet. 

This story has been repeated throughout the years to poke fun at me and my expert handling of chopsticks. 

In an extreme continuation of the joke, my family got together and purchased a DNA ancestry test for me to make sure I belong to them. Ah, but the joke will be on them when I can finally prove once and for all that I am a rightful heir to Genghis Khan's empire. Maybe I am the last Mongol Queen and I can reclaim my throne. 

So today I took my kit out. The instructions guided me to find the collection tube and spit into the funnel until it was filled up to a line about 1.5 inches up the tube. This completely grossed me out. I put the tube up to my mouth, cringed, and put it back down again. But then I shut my eyes and transcended back 800 years to the steps of Mongolia. I was slaughtering my enemies and, naturally, spitting on their dead bodies.  And voila, before I knew it,  my collection tube was full. 

Now, off to the post office!

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