GETTING NAKED IN A SUSHI RESTAURANT

I like sushi. No, I love sushi. I get super excited when we are going for sushi and this particular night, I was next level excited. It was Russell’s high school graduation weekend and our whole family was together. Russell’s girlfriend, Hannah, was with us and we were going to parrrrrtyyyyy. There was to be an academic awards ceremony that night where Russell would be honored for the rocking scholarship he received from John Brown University and Barry said we were going out for sushi to celebrate. We got dressed up in mountain town dressy-uppy clothes (this involves nice jeans and can include polar fleece) and sat down at our giant table to dine at Fusion Japan. It was outstanding. Sashimi was tossed back in revelry, curries were passed around for taste tests, dragon rolls were devoured. It was a dinner to remember. And it was about to become even more memorable.

We were all contentedly pushed back from our plates when I thought to myself, “Oh, I should take a multi-vitamin. My stomach is full now, it won’t make me sick.” (There are several other chapters to this ongoing multi-vitamin saga that had occurred before that led to this line of thinking. I will write about them one day but one has to pace oneself in the writing of puke blogs.) I washed it down and sat there contentedly gazing at my beloved brood. The contented gazing lasted for exactly one minute. At the one minute mark, I was jolted by a lightening bolt of extreme nausea. Not the kind that sneaks up on you and gives you time to bend over at the waist, order a sprite or chew some gum. The projectile kind. I turned to Ivy and said, “Uhhhh….I’m going to throw up now.”

“Run to the bathroom Mama, goooooo!” she wisely coached.

I shoved my chair back with a squeal and pretty much transported to the bathroom. I knew, from experience, what was going to happen if I did not arrive at seclusion in time. I locked the door and scanned the room like a Russian spy. Here’s the deal: puking is not just puking for me. Remember Peeing On The Bible Network and Let Me Tell You What You Can Do With Your Running Skirt? Puking = peeing. I examined the trashcan to see if  Best Puke Scenario #1 (sitting on toilet while puking into trashcan) was possible. The trashcan was a wire basket that would have been as effective as a sieve, so that was a no go. I looked at the floor to see if Less Awesome Puke Scenario #2 (removing pants and puking while bent over toilet) was possible. The floor was tile with a big ol’ drain in the middle; I was in luck. I scrambled to rip off my mountain town dressy-uppy pants and threw them as far away from me as I could. I slid into position like a puke ninja, just in the nick of time. I threw up violently and peed equally as violently. Understand, all of the things that have happened in this paragraph took literally 3 seconds. When the double-projectile-hurricane-of -bodily-fluids episode was over, I stood there trembling in the wreckage of a public restroom, naked from the waist down, mourning the loss of so much sushi.  I apologize to trees for how many bathroom hand towels were used to clean up the carnage on me and the bathroom that day. I shakily put my mountain dressy-uppy clothes back on and tried to work up the guts to walk back out into public and act casual. I might mention that I am not a quiet, feminine puker. I envy those folks whose vocal cords do not become involved in their puke process. How nice that must be for them to puke incognito. When I puke, I sound like I am summoning the fires of Mordor to smite entire hemispheres. I was fairly confident that everyone in that restaurant would have heard the demonesque guttural utterings I had brought forth. I gingerly opened the door and shuffled back to the table with my head down, quite worse for wear.

Barry had no idea what had happened. When I slid back into my seat, white as a ghost, he asked me if I was ok. “Not really” I  said and then told him my tale of spy puking.   He did that shoulders-up-and-down kind of  laughing for way too long. He assured me that no one had heard me above the din of the restaurant but I know he was lying.  Barry got me some gum but there was no time to shower before the awards ceremony so I had to sit through the whole thing unclean.  I have eaten sushi since then but never darkened the doors of Fusion Japan again.  I am fairly confident that there is a “WANTED FOR DESECRATING A REALLY GREAT RESTAURANT” poster with my picture on the wall at Fusion Japan. Could somebody pull that down so I can go back for some green curry?

Why write a story like this? Why tell this wretched tale? I’ll tell you why. Multi-vitamins are from the devil and people need to know.  The most vulnerable are the girls with puke-pee issues and I am their self-appointed spokeswoman. Someone has got to represent for the silent contingent of puke-pee-er, ninja survivors. Girls, we can do this. We can get our vitamins from food and eat our sushi in peace.