Someone once described irony as a metallic, bitter taste. Being one who has always believed that words have flavor (and they do, but more on that in another post, another day), I loved that analogy.
Fast forward to lunch today. I snagged some yakisoba from the teriyaki joint next door to where I work. The noodles were darned tasty, and hot, and comforting on a cold and rather frustrating, and overly busy business day. I took a few minutes away from the menacing stack of paper on my desk to email a couple of friends while I plied my chopsticks around in the noodles. I told my friend Kin what I was having for lunch and that, "I really love eating with chopsticks. Is that weird for a white American girl..?"
Kin wrote back, "You are one up on me there... using chopsticks. I am almost useless around chopsticks. Really weird for a middle aged Asian guy. I'd rather use a fork any day. So if I treat you to lunch at a Chinese restaurant, don't be alarmed if I look lost."
I laughed so hard I about shot noodles out of my nose for the second time in my life.
Yes, you read it right. Second Time. I happen to hold the Three Noodle (plus a chicken chunk) Spew Record. When I was six years old, my sister, Nancy and I were sitting at the counter eating Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup for lunch. Nancy, who always tried to get the best of me as a kid, was (as usual) teasing me mercilessly. I was trying very hard, as my normally wise Mother foolishly suggested, to ignore her. It almost worked... so close to working... thisclose. I hoisted a big spoonful of soup into my mouth, clamped my lips shut, stared straight ahead, and then she did it. In an impeccably timed moment of brilliance, she made some biting comment that was also truly funny. I couldn't open my mouth to laugh, it was full of hot soup and noodles! So, they found the next best exit point as I snorted with laughter. Right out of my nose and back into the bowl. Nancy absolutely pealed with laughter, and I got in trouble for goofing around(!), making a mess, and ruining my bowl of soup with spewage.
If you ever dine with the two of us, fair warning. You'll likely hear Nancy's version of the story (which is pretty much the same as mine, but includes the pealing laughter all over again), and you'll also probably hear about the time I was sleep walking and peed in the closet (hey, I was four years old!). It's really all she has on me any more. I've found acceptance; I've come to peace with it. My left eye hardly even twitches any more when she's around.
By the way, she'll be here for Thanksgiving next week. Neither soup nor noodles are on the menu.