“Men are like Chinese food,” Laurie said, pointing at me with her dirty chopsticks. “Tasty, cheap, and they might give you food poisoning.”
I l,ooked at my food and cursed myself. It was taking everything I had to hold back a retort and my true feelings for my beautiful friend.
She made another biting comment while I tried to position my fingers to hold the chopsticks. I laughed. After a few minutes of fiddling and Laurie jumping in with a, “Here let me help you!” I had it sorted. The way her warm tiny fingers slid over mine had my heart doing backflips. My hands were shaking as I lifted the sashimi to my lips and then, plop!
“See!” Laurie said, jabbing her rice balls. “Just like a man, slippery. They can’t commit.”
Where was all these venom coming from? I scrunched my eyebrows together. She was positively devastating my perfect view of her. How dare she! I never knew she was so bitter. I made a feeble attempt to laugh again while I unwrapped my silverware. At least though, I would have one thing: food.
She frowned at me. “Why aren’t you going to use chopsticks?”
“Because they’re like women, too hard to please.” Score me, I thought, as she looked wounded. I felt a twinge of guilt but plowed over it with copious amount of wonton soup.
She was silent for much of the rest of the meal. I left her the check and my unrequited feelings on the table.