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.
