I took the kids out for sushi the other night.
And yes, for some reason, they love sushi. At least, they love the vegetarian variety. Joseph started to feel ill when he realised some of the rolls the chef was making included raw fish.
I won’t tell him about the eel.
Halfway through our meal, a woman came up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.
“I just wanted to tell you that you’re so brave to bring two kids here.”
“Oh!” I said, brightly. “It was actually their request. I don’t care for sushi, but they love it.”
“When I saw you walk in, I told my husband, ‘That poor woman. Maybe we should help her.’” She nodded her head, patting my shoulder in comfort.
“I can’t imagine trying to dine out with two children. You are so brave,” she finished without a trace of irony.
“Thanks? I think?” I stared after her in bemusement and then looked at my two children.
I thought we were having a good night. Sure, Elizabeth dropped two sets of chopsticks and Joseph had a hard time remembering his chair was for sitting, not standing so he could see the chefs better. And his coat fell of his chair a few times as did Elizabeth’s napkin.
But overall, I was having an enjoyable dining experience. We were talking about fish and whales and chopsticks and the difference between Chinese and Japanese food. The kids were proud that they were able to use their chopsticks and I took pictures to post on Facebook and send to their grandmas.
We were having a great time.
I shrugged off her words and went back to our meal.
Though I wonder…
Should I have been offended?