While attending a wedding by myself on Saturday night (Jon was off terrorizing innocent woodland creatures with his clogs), I stood behind two adolescent boys in the buffet line. Both of them turned their noses up at the endless variety of sushi laid out in beautiful, color-coordinated designs. By the time they had made it to the middle of the table neither of them had put anything on their plates, and then one of them saw a huge bowl of wasabi. He nudged his friend, pointed at the green mass and asked, “What is that?”
The other boy’s body relaxed with a huge sigh of relief, and then he said, “Dude! They’ve got guacamole! I love this stuff!”
And because my insides are as black as the jam underneath Satan’s toenails I didn’t stop him from scooping a baseball-sized portion onto his plate.