Das Boot embracing his excitement
while also rocking the sweater and scarf ensemble.

My husband loves sushi.  I have no idea why he is so obsessed with it, as it’s just raw fish.  At any given time, we have raw fish in our refrigerator, but he won’t go near it, and doesn’t ogle it like he does sushi.  In fact, at home, he can’t be bothered to take the raw fish out of the fridge and throw it in the oven, but when we go to a restaurant, he will practically cut your hand off if you go for the last piece. (Although he can’t be bothered with raw fish at home, he can, however, be bothered to get in his car and drive to Hardee’s to pick up dinner instead.  The man is a mystery.)

Last night we went out for sushi with friends.  We had a Groupon, which sparked the choice.   Matt loves sushi and I love a bargain, so it was the perfect match.  (Just like me and Ryan Gosling…if he would just call me.)

We went with our friends Deutschemark and Das Boot (not their real names.  That would be super strange.). Das Boot is from Germany and has the coolest accent ever.  That has nothing to do with the story, but it’s worth noting.

Matt and I arrived late only to find our friends already at a table.  I hate being late, but what is a girl to do when the parking lot she usually parks in is full, and the overflow parking lot price had been doubled because of some lame car show in town?  I’ll tell you what she does; the only thing she can do.  She protests and parks several blocks away in a sketchy lot and prays her car is there upon her return.  (It was.)

The good thing about arriving late is our friends had already scoped out the place and were able to provide updates on the other patrons that we would be inevitably judging soon.  Doesn’t everyone do this when they go out to eat?  What else are you supposed to talk about?  Deutschemark and Das Boot are astute and had done their research perfectly.  They pointed out the couple on a first date, and the best find of the evening, a guy with a scarf, heavy eye lids of blue shadow, and an amazing purse.

Matt and I casually glanced over to make sure Deutschemark and Das Boot weren’t lying to us about their finds.  We immediately found the man, exactly how they described him to be.  He was beautiful and his eye makeup was impeccable.  I then looked to his man-bag, as I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and not call it a purse.  However, I had to immediately take back the benefit I gave him, because he had a very large purse.  It was black and actually quite nice.

Before I could say anything, my beloved husband spoke up and observed, “That’s a really nice purse.”

I was excited my husband had such great taste in handbags, but a little embarrassed he said this in front of our friends.  So I responded by asking him if he would like to join the gentleman at the table to further discuss accessories and feel up the gentleman’s bag.  (Yes, this is a double entendre and was meant that way.  You’re welcome.)

His response?  “What?  Is there something gay about one man complimenting another man’s purse?”

And that’s when the waiter arrived to take our order.

I considered trying to explain to the waiter that we weren’t judging the gentleman for carrying the bag, but were actually complimenting his choice, especially when considered as an ensemble for the rest of his outfit.  But then I figured he probably already knew we were a table he wanted to avoid, so I didn’t waste my breath.  I was hungry.

We ordered four rolls of sushi to start out with.  Matt and I assumed those four rolls were just for us, but apparently Deutschemark and Das Boot figured that would be enough for all of us to share.  We realized they must have been there much earlier than we thought and consumed several drinks.  Their judgment was clearly impaired about how much the Newlins were planning to consume.

The sushi arrived and Matt and I did our best not to molest the plate immediately.  It was served on a large square plate and arranged in groupings of each different roll.  The presentation was nice, and we were anxious to dig in.   And then we looked at the table next to us, and jealously set in.

The couple on the date had also received their sushi order, and it was served on a large wooden boat, complete with a bow and stern.  The sushi was served on the Promenade
Deck (as it should be.)  On the back of the boat sat a martini glass filled with shredded jicima and flashing lights.  What?!  Why did they get the sassy boat while we were left with a stupid plate?  We couldn’t eat the sushi presented when we knew it could come in something far more large scale.  We called our waiter over immediately.

We asked why they got a boat and we didn’t even get the equivalent of a dinghy.  He said we had to order at least five rolls of sushi to get the boat.  I pointed out this wasn’t fair, not only because he didn’t tell us that when we ordered, but also because we didn’t appreciate the clear classism that was going on in the restaurant.  Didn’t we look like people who deserved our sushi served on a luxury liner?  Clearly we demonstrated our impeccable taste with the compliments on the beautiful handbag across the room.  Obviously our waiter hated us.

We ate our sushi, all the while glaring at the couple next to us, telling ourselves the lacquer on the boat would give them food poisoning.  When it was time to order our second round, we did so, but once again ordered only 4 rolls.  I asked the waiter if he could make an exception and get us our next order served on an ocean liner.  I told him there would be two shiny quarters in it for his troubles.  (What?  I was already low on cash because of the parking incident.)

He said he would see what he could do, and we waited in anticipation, wondering if he would follow through, or if he was just another guy feeding us a line.  (I feel like there’s a fishing joke in here somewhere but I can’t find it.  Line.  Eating fish.  Boat.  I got nothing.)   We inquired if there was anything we needed to do to ensure the boat harbored at our table.  Das Boot suggested a large lighthouse to be placed in the middle of our table to ensure the boat would find us.  The waiter didn’t seem to get the humor, and I don’t think it was because of Das Boot’s accent.

When our second order came out, we were delighted to discover our waiter either had some clout with the kitchen staff, or he was motivated by that promise of an extra 50 cents.  Alas, our order arrived on a magnificent boat, complete with blinking lights.

We waived the boat in to shore, and for some reason, I felt it appropriate to make a backing up “beep, beep” sound as if the boat was a garbage truck instead of the beautiful yacht she was.  I also resisted the urge to yell “Thar she blows!”  I refrained because I was sure out waiter already hated us and most likely laced our boat with salmonella.

Most excited about the boat was Das Boot, who was like a kid at Christmas.  He stared in wonder as the waiter pointed out the various rolls and their locations.  He then began making comments about feeling like he was Leonardo DiCaprio and how he truly felt like he was king of the world.

Somehow, the sushi tasted better when eaten off the floors of the vessel, and we enjoyed each bite.  We cleared the ship and then requested our bill, as we had a party to attend and didn’t want to be late anymore than we already were.

When the bill came, we glanced it over to make sure everything was on the up and up and then we saw something that made us all laugh.  It was the cherry on top of our perfect dining experience.  Our waiter actually typed into the system “Customer requested boat.”

I’m not sure why we all found that hilarious, but we did.  I suspect it’s because the chef most likely granted our request because they imagined the requesting parties were a family of four, and the two small children wanted nothing more than the excitement of eating from a floating palace.  I can only imagine his surprise when he realized he granted the wish of four adults who clearly needed a hobby (but had excellent taste in handbags).

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