Japanese Steak House

Just got the official invitation from my lovely sister-in-law for my nephew’s upcoming 7th birthday party … at a Japanese Steak House.

When I was a kid, I probably went to one of these places, oh, four times. Total. since marrying my wife, I’d say I’ve got at least 10 times. Probably more. I love my sister-in-law, and I love my nephews (who I genuinely view as my own children). But if I never see the flip-the-shrimp-in-the-hat trick again, I’ll be a happy man. If I never see another onion volcano … never have vegetables flipped onto my plate … never pose for the end-of-meal commemorative photo … never hear Happy Birthday crooned in Japanese … well, let’s be blunt. I’m losing my mind. My nephews are great kids. Great, great, great kids. But how about Serendipity III? Or, oh, California Pizza Kitchen? Fuck, I’ll take McDonald’s and those nasty McNuggets. Anything … but please, dear God, no more Japanese Steak House.

I can smell the dressing. I can taste the Shirley Temple. I can feel the green tea ice cream on my tongue.

No …

No …

No …

I am doomed.

4 thoughts on “Japanese Steak House”

  1. Dude, be happy, and consider yourself lucky, actually, that your sister-in-law let’s you have such a relationship with your nephew. You are blessed and you should remember that when such invites land in your mailbox.

  2. Yeah Jeff, listen to PatP. Instead of complaining about the traffic, be thankful that you can afford a car. Instead of bitching about your dog throwing up on the floor, be grateful that she’s such a strong presence in your life. Instead of wondering why teenagers won’t pick up for themselves in Starbucks, appreciate their free spirit.

    Or, you know, feel free to be a normal person.

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