After getting shot at – I’ll let Vicky tell you that little story – Vicky and I decided to enjoy a quite dinner at her mother’s restaurant. Too bad that wasn’t going to happen.
The idea was that we’d get there, present my ma-in-law with her birthday cake, and chow down on some fine grub.
That was my idea, at least. Vicky’s idea was slightly different. It included blowing her mom away with a custom cake made to look like sushi… which wasn’t her mom’s idea. Her mom’s idea was tucking into a lovely, little pineapple upside-down cake a friend had baked her. It wasn’t that the sushi cake was no good (though I didn’t really get to taste enough of it to tell – not that I’m complaining… dammit) but that we all have our own expectations, our own plans, and they don’t always meet.
Believe me.
After several hours of waiting and delays and waiting and talking and delays, I finally got Vicky to sit down and eat. I was starving! I was dying for my sushi, something you’d never hear me say before Vicky came along! We started out with a little salad. This was followed up by a steamed rice, shrimp ball… thing. It was good! Don’t get me wrong! I just couldn’t tell you for the life of me what it’s called. After that, came the beef yakiniku (I think I got that right), a marinated beef I would probably kill for. If you don’t know Japanese cuisine, these all came out in small servings, on little plates. I was still starving!
Then, our sushi – our everluvin, mother-fuckin sushi – arrived! Spicy tuna roll! Ah, spicy tuna roll, I bow before your eminence! Crunch roll! Ah, crunch roll, I would shave my head to have more of you! (And we better make that soon because I’m getting all my hair cut off this Saturday, anyway!) And then, Crunchy Shrimp roll.
… Vicky saw my face when I had my first bite and told her mother that I wanted to marry her. If, by “marry”, you mean “chain her up to a sushi counter with a feeding tube and another tube at the other end and a machine in her head that has her do nothing but make Crunchy Shrimp roll like my own zombified slave” then, sure, I’ll “marry” her. My ma-in-law said, “Too bad.” So much for that idea.
When we finished our three rolls, Vicky announced she was stuffed. She couldn’t eat another bite. She…
I was still hungry.
Steve, my da-in-law, was sitting next to us, drinking his beer and Vicky asked me, “Are you saying you could eat more? Really? You could really eat more?”
My options: a) admit I was a pig in front of my da-in-law, who has already mentioned that he thinks I’ve been packing on the tonnage, b) deny ever having the thought, and c) kill everyone in the restaurant and chain my ma-in-law up to a sushi counter with a feeding tube and another tube at the other end and a machine in her head that has her do nothing but make Crunchy Shrimp roll like my own zombified slave.
“Hungry?” I replied. “Oh no. Not me. I’m fine.”
I was starving.
God dammit.
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