What Won't I Do For Sushi

I had sushi for lunch a couple days ago with Ben and Mark. Now, I love sushi, and pretty much do what I can to eat it whenever possible. Not having had breakfast, I was particularly hungry. I finished my roll in record time and, having not silenced my tummy, began eyeing one of the last two pieces left on Ben's plate. Surely a deal can be struck where I could partake of at least one of those morsels. There was.

I'll take that bet

[[http://static.flickr.com/36/1137507099c64250e5as.jpg]] Once the wasabi entered my mouth, I broke it into three more managable sub-blobs. Each one, on spreading out over my tongue and hitting my throat, felt like a kick in the crotch by an NFL placekicker. The upside was that the discomfort lasted only moments. The downside was that it still felt like getting kicked in the crotch. After much coughing, reddening of the face, and assuring a fellow patron that I was okay, the wasabi was down, the previously eaten sushi remained internal, and I began to eye my prize. Not fazed by what I had just done, I promptly dipped the morsel into my soy-wasabi mixture, thereby eliciting another kick-to-the-crotch sensation, though this time only with the power of a 1st grader. I must say, it was well worth it.