Hold the soy sauce! I’ve just cried buckets into my sushi. And unfortunately they weren’t low sodium tears.
As it stands, yesterday I had a full-blown melt-down. At a restaurant. With people watching. With my husband watching. In horror.
The previous couple of days had been awful. Heart-wrenching, horrific and painful. I had gotten some news and some things had happened that were right up there in the top 10 worst things that I have ever been subjected to. I had not slept much and yesterday it had finally caught up with me emotionally.
My dear, darling man texted me and asked me to meet him for lunch at our favorite “the kids are at school and will never know, sushi-date place.” I know why he did. He cannot fool me. His way of trying to make me feel better is not by words or touch, but by doing these subtle things that speak…“I know you are hurting and since I am not comfortable with words, I will show you that I do care by taking you for lunch.” He knows that I get the message and that is all that matters. It is his way, and I appreciate it.
And so I started my 30 mile trek to Tulsa to meet for sushi. On the way there I knew I was in trouble. A knot began forming in my throat. I was already holding back tears. I kept trying to psych myself out and tell myself to “get it together” before I went into the restaurant. I was going to fake it through lunch so I did not ruin his nice plans for us.
When I got to the place he was already there. He had already ordered and was waiting. Actually, he did not order. The owner ordered for us. We walk into the door there and the guy just starts ringing us up. It’s the same exact thing every.single.time. 2 “Davids” sushi rolls, a bag of Baked Lays for the Injun, and a baklava for me. Oh, and two waters. I know what you are thinking…..”why are they eating chips and baklava with sushi?!?” The sushi is a side business at a sub shop. Bill and Ruth’s on 31st and Yale is the absolute best sushi, hands down, anywhere in Tulsa. And somewhere in the mix, they make the best baklava …in Tulsa. So I get one every time. And we order water, because with sushi , you must have water.
I gathered myself before I walked in and forced a fake smile. It did not go un-noticed. I knew immediately that he “knew.” He knew that I was still upset. I am not good at faking. I looked tired, and broken. But would sushi be the cure??
When I sat down I was immediately uncomfortable. There was a couple behind me that was talking so loud and making sure that everyone knew their business. It was rude. It was distracting and it is a pet-peeve of mine. When I am in a restaurant that is relatively quiet or not busy…I do not want to hear what is going on next door. The same thing happened to me last week. I can now say that I know this ladies entire family genealogy, every single message that they sent back and forth on Facebook, and how their grandma’s estate was divided.
So that stunk. But he traded me seats. It helped a little. Sort of. OK…not really at all.
I was composed and the precious woman who makes the sushi brought it over. And it was glorious. Perfection as usual. Simply made with love.
And then he spoke. An innocent reference to the “situation.” And that was all she wrote. I busted out right there, the flood-gates had opened. The water-works had begun and I could not stop them come hell or high-water. ←No pun intended.
He immediately knew he had goofed. I could see the look on his face. It was sheer horror. Or perhaps embarrassment. Or something not pleasing. And then the man who does not generally comfort with words….tried comforting me with words. And it worked. I finally stopped crying. And then since it had gotten too serious he said in his best sarcastic voice…. “So…………having a good sushi experience?”
“No, no I’m not! I shouldn’t have come! ” He then did a little motion with his hand around his eyes, his way of telling me that my entire face was covered in mascara. I looked in my “Burt’s Bees” compact… and sure enough….
So we enjoyed the rest of our lunch. I had my “cry.” The lump in my throat was gone. He asked me to move on and not let this mess, these people who had hurt me determine my day or my mood.
And then he said… “I’m glad I’m not a stupid girl.”
You know I am realizing that people show love and affection in different ways and some are not conventional. His is not. But I know that his way of apologizing or even sometimes saying that he loves me is not in words all the time. It is in gestures. In his own language.
Go ahead, spare the soy sauce and cry some tears in your sushi. You might just feel better!
