I broke up with my partner recently. The details aren’t important, other than I felt there was some poor behaviour on my partner’s part (in my view, and hey, there’s two sides to every story). The point is, I was nursing some hurt feelings, and asking myself the grand question all people ask when they feel they’ve been cheated: where are all the good people?
In my case – where are all the good men?
I concluded, several nights after the split, that there ARE NONE! I smugly hit upon this truth one night in bed. Clearly this was the answer! NO GOOD MEN EXIST! Happy and safe in this newfound knowledge, and keen to NEVER DATE AGAIN, I drifted off. Only to be awoken at midnight with crippling stomach pain and a sweating fever.
Not only was I single, I was also rocking a pretty gross case of gastro. Could I feel more attractive at this point? Why did God hate me, and insist on smiting me with being single and having digestive issues at the same time? Oh that’s right, because God doesn’t exist, but the wrong partners and microbes do.
As I pondered my life from the bathroom, I realised I was too quick in dismissing ALL MEN.
After all, the culprit for my midnight bathroom run was an innocent stick of tofu sushi. Sushi I had eaten many, many times before. Did that mean ALL SUSHI was inherently bad? How was I to make sense of this terrible turn of events?
YES! I told myself. All sushi is bad!
Look what sushi has done to me! I’m a quivering, irritable, nauseous mess!
I was JUST FINE before I ever met sushi!
Sushi is the biggest a-hole on this planet!
I’M NEVER – NEVAHHHHH – EATING FRICKEN SUSHI AGAIN.
Almost immediately, I started picturing my next sushi meal. What can I say, I really do like the avocado and prawn ones. And that’s when I knew that not all sushi was bad, and probably not all men were bad, either.
As I realised the emptiness of my rash sushi judgements, I decided I needed to make the case for ALL MEN versus Jessica’s Anecdotal Experiences logically, lest I wind up alone with only platters of sushi to comfort me.
- Much like my sushi choices, in the world of dating, I had finally started making healthier ones. My sushi stick was tofu, and made of brown rice. Not like the vapid, white rice, glucose level raising, crash inducing sushi sticks of past years.
- I’m more discerning about where I pick up my sushi. Gone are the days of desperately grabbing the $2 specials right at the end of the day in the CBD food court.
- I’m not swayed by sushi’s looks any more. You know the kind – that’s all dressed up, brightly coloured with a shiny, seaweedy fan jacket. The peacocking sushi. I go for the earthy, high protein, high fibre kinds now.
And yet, despite my best attempts, this latest sushi was undoubtedly a fail.
I suppose eating sushi is a gamble. But I can’t help but feel it’s a delightful, risky and adventurous gamble. Sure – it can end up in the crapper. This time, it did. That’s bad luck and it’s probably nobody’s fault.
Maybe next time, it won’t.