Something I’ll be saying to the Olive someday?

April 20, 2010

Eric is a man of very few flaws – one of which is that he doesn’t like sushi. It’s amazing he lasted in Los Angeles as long as he did – that fabled land where there is a half-finished screenplay in every nightstand drawer and a sushi joint on every corner. He grew weary of well-meaning sushi-minded friends telling him, “Oh, you can always order the teriyaki chicken…”

Anyway, his distaste for raw fish gives me a good excuse to take myself out in downtown Portsmouth for lunchtime sushi on a semi-regular basis (yeah, yeah, I know – pregnant women aren’t supposed to eat sushi. But if I’m living on the edge, then so are about 60 million Japanese women).

I know he would be irritated if he were missing out on opportunities to eat pizza, but he’s not even fully clear on the magnificent concept of the bento box – sushi and tempura and all kinds of other good things arranged in a kind of elegant lacquered version of the compartmentalized Swanson’s TV dinner tray – so it’s a win-win. Eric’s one objection is that I have the opportunity to acclimate the Olive to Japanese cuisine in utero; he’d prefer to have a fellow sushi-hater in residence.

I was heading back home after lunch when I saw a mom walking around with her little boy. I still have no sense of children’s ages – I’m told this will improve when I have a child of my own – but this was one of those kids who’s just discovered the thrill of walking on his own. He was ricocheting off the legs of pedestrians, lunging at passing dogs, and generally toddling around looking adorable.

Mom was clearly enjoying his antics yet concerned that the rest of downtown Portsmouth might not be feeling the same way. Her one piece of advice to her cherub? “Honey, don’t annoy people.”

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