Phobia of the Fishy Fish
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Phobia of the Fishy Fish
As a young girl growing up, I would go on many dates. But one in particular, which at that time I thought was my reason of existence, my date with the hottest hunk on the varsity football team, Tom. Tom took me to Tempura, a local sushi place known for its extravagant dishes. I could only imagine sitting across from Tom and hed say something funny, I would smile and something would be either stuck to my teeth or worse, my face. Or, he would bend over to give me a kiss and be turned off by my strange breath. In high school that would be catastrophic, that would mean I wouldnt be known as the “it” girl. I had great concern for my physical appearance and for that reason stinky fish smell lingering on my clothes, mushy white rice and seaweed sticking to my teeth led me to making an assumption that sushi was not for me.
Initially, the first thing that popped into my head when Tom had said sushi was yuck! Im going to smell like fish. Secondly, a big picture of my uncle Edgar, a fisherman, would come home with the worst smell imaginable. In about five seconds his ripped shirts and originally blue jeans but then black because of the mud, bait and guts scattered on the bottom of them, would fill the room with the most disgusting aroma. I remember of how awful it would be to even have friends over. I would arrange all my play dates around the time that I knew there was no possible way he would even enter the room. I was embarrassed to have any kind of association or to be known at school for the fishy smell, because if the school knows, Tom knows.
Smells where not my biggest problems, looks where also a big deal. Mushy rice and seaweed would just be a killer for the perfect kiss. Ive been fantasizing for months on how the kiss would take place to every single detail. Somehow, in all the details, I never saw seaweed or rice. My picture was more like, Tom and I on the shore sitting on a blanket eating chips and sipping apple cider as we watched the sunset. All this talk about fish really through me off guard.
The day of our date, what would normally take me one hour took me four. I was dreading every single moment. I finally picked an outfit, a white summer dress and strapped sandals. I let me hair loose and put a white flower on one side of my ear. Before I left my house, I checked my teeth, hair, and face and of course breathe. I strolled inside the restaurant. The lights where dimmed, had many booths, and had chefs cutting raw seafood out in the open, sort of like entertainment. The moment I had planned for months had been crushed by my phobia of fish. I even tried to make the first move to kiss him before our dinner, but somehow got interrupted by the giggly waiter. By the time we had ordered our meal, all my plans of getting the perfect kiss had been shattered.
To start our meal we had a crunchy and fresh ginger