We try to go out just the two of us at least monthly. It usually turns out to be more like quarterly, maybe, but we’re working on that. The last planned date night we were both sick. It was a burgers on the couch while blowing our noses at each other date, and it was magical. In case you’re wondering, we are determined not to cancel our dates.
The time before that, he suggested we try this sushi train place. Confession: I had to look this up. Would we be eating sushi on a train? Is it that thing I saw in some movie where they ate raw fish off of a barely clothed woman table? I hope not, that would not be a very good time for me for obvious moral and sanitary reasons.
Turns out, it’s just a regular restaurant and little plates of sushi slowly stroll around the room on a conveyer belt “train” passing by each table. That sounded ok, so I agreed.
My husband doesn’t get overly excited about most things and if he does, you still can’t really tell he’s excited. It’s ok, I cover the dramatically excited department enough for both of us. Sushi is the exception. We get him sushi ornaments for Christmas. We dressed our child as a sushi roll for Halloween. The man loves some nigiri and everyone knows it.
I thought it necessary to discuss sushi train etiquette before going in. I’m not sure if this is a thing, but I had to lay down some rules. He’d do the same for me if we were entering a dessert train restaurant. Rule 1: Do not grab every plate that goes by 2: No fighting another guest for the last tuna roll 3: I’ll give a code word if anything gets too crazy. We needed to be prepared for anything.
Once I felt he was ready, we entered. It looked pretty nice, so we sat down and started looking at the cute little pieces of food slowly go by our table. The plates were different colors, which the waiter said indicated the price, so I mostly just saw moving dollar signs.
I studied him as he looked at row after row of various types of rolled rice parading by, mentally calculating his attack. A small bead of sweat rolled down my forehead. I spotted the first thing that looked edible, but was too afraid to lift the lid and get it. I mean, what if I wasn’t quick enough and it just whizzed on by while I sat there grasping at air? I just couldn’t take that risk. I asked him grab it and that’s when it all began.
As I started to eat my two pieces of a subpar roll with imitation everything in it (I’m not sushi adventurous), I looked at him. Although he appeared to be cool and level to anyone else, I saw something I’d never seen before. It was the look our child would have going on shopping spree at a toy store. I was a little frightened.
He started off slow, like we discussed. Then, something clicked. He was starting to pick up two plates at a time. Yes, they only had one or two little pieces on them, but still. He started holding the lid up with one hand and randomly grabbing between bites. I got out my phone calculator and started adding up the damages. He didn’t even notice. At this point I was hidden behind the stack of dishes.
I looked around, hoping to see an emergency shut off button. No such luck. I took a deep breath, pushed the colorful plate stack over just enough to peek around at him, put my hand over his and said, “Honey, I think it’s time.” He smiled in agreement, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.
As we walked out hand and in hand, after one last glance back at the magical happy train we both quietly vowed to never, ever return or to speak of this again.
At least I kept the first half of that vow.
— All parts of this were husband approved. Several parts were exaggerated. He was a good sport for allowing me to tease him about this!