My Spicy Salad Days are Gone

We made plans to eat sushi tonight. It was either going to be a dinner to celebrate electoral accomplishments or an opportunity to drown my sorrows in wasabi and hot green tea. It turned out to be a bit of a mixed bag politically (I'm nearly heartbroken about the marriage amendment, but other things don't seem so bleak) but a fine evening out for us personally. We went out to Zushi, which if you're ever in the Tidewater area is my favorite all time sushi restaurant EVER. It may actually be my favorite restaurant ever. I love the dishes, I love the decorations, I love every last bite of my food, I even love the sink in the bathroom. It's superb.

Tonight it was relatively quiet and we got to watch Kurosawa's the Seven Samurai (with no sound and relatively few subtitles) and chat over edamame. I normally try to control the amount I order, but today I really outdid myself, both in quantity and the spiciness of my choices. It was then that I realized I am officially old.

I can no longer eat an entire helping of wasabi covered sushi without getting eye bulging heartburn. I can tell if it has just rained or is about to rain based off of how my knees feel. I groaned the other day after getting up from squatting on the ground (otherwise known as making the "old man noise"). Don't even get me started on what a grande latte does to me after a big dinner. You may have to carry me home.

Soon I'll be holding my menu at arm's length, clearing my throat of unmentionable substances every three minutes and espousing about how things used to be back in my day. I know those misspent days of my youth contained a lot more spicy foods much later at night than they do now.