I am an excitable sort of girl; little things make me extremely happy. One thing which never fails to excite is my love of sushi ordering.

In fact, I become so excited that much like a drunk I lose focus and coherency and become slightly short of breath. Sushi is a feast of an experience for me, no matter how many times I may have it. I arrive to dinner early and stare at the menu with great concentration and expectation. Usually, I also become extremely confused by the many sparkly menu items and flavors presented to my mouth by my eyes, as well as very agitated if someone interrupts my strategic approach to ordering, which usually consists of my answering the age-old question ‘how much can I eat without puking’.

Aside from my sushi feast with Na.oh.mi this evening (visiting from Calgary), last I ate sushi was with A two weeks back. This image is the tissue upon which I placed my order. When I handed it to the waitress, she smiled at my clear mental awkwardness as I beamed up at her and then read the order out loud before starting to walk away.

A had to call after her to indicate that the tissue was filled with items for me. Alone. Just I, the piggy. It took me nearly three hours to eat the entire order and I am most certain the waitress had a bet with the sushi chefs as to on which piece I would tap out. I never did because I’m a strong piggy like that.

Aside: I really most appreciate my artistic rendition of a cone, not a roll, please. No doubt the sushi chefs were just as happy as I.