School lunches were always a bit of a trial in my youth. At the time, Asians were not common in our small school district; those that sat in class with us had the advantage in that they were aggressively, proactively banana without any of the inhibitions or embarrassment that came with uncomfortable racial awarenesses. Banana — yellow on the outside, white on the inside — was for them not so much a habit as it was a state of being. Smaller children would ask them, “Are you Asian?” and they would answer, honestly bewildered, “No.”

So college, and my first encounter with a freshman, who stared at my face and demanded, “What’s that red splotch on your cheek? Is it a birthmark? Can I touch it?”

And, taken aback, I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “It’s a nipple.”

Doctor: “So I have your chart here, and, let me see, your cholesterol level was … oh. Oh dear.”

Yuhri: “How long do I have?”

Doctor: “Well, I wouldn’t be buying any goldfish if I were you.”

I am William Sonoma’s whore. Cooking.com? I’m their whipping girl. Crate & Barrel? Bring on the latex! And as long as you’re at it, hand me that combination apple-corer-peeler-dicer-minter-carver-sander-painter. Have it in red? No? You have it in teal? I’ll take it anyway. Oh, send me the red one when you get it in.

“It’s called what?” The Guy whispered me when we saw the sign. When my Mom had described the place, its name had been clearly articulated as, “I Ruv Sushi.” That was bad enough. Actually seeing the sign and realizing it wasn’t only ‘I Ruv Sushi,’ it was actually ‘I [heart] Sushi,’ was a blow to right-thinking Japanese-food lovers everywhere. Who did their marketing? Sanrio?

“Did you book any hotels or anything?” I asked.

He looked up from his laptop, which was presently exploring the wild and woolly world of Baldur’s Gate. “Nope,” he said, cheerily, and went back to playing.

I fretted, but in silence. It is the Japanese way. When one finds something irritating, one bites one’s tongue and lets one’s irritation ferment and grow until it finds release in an ulcer or domestic violence.

Big Feet and Little Feet went on a vacation.

“Whee!” shrieked Little Feet. “Vacation!!”

“Shut up,” said Little Brain. “We’ll talk about this one like grown-ups.”