After lunch at Ebisu, a neighborhood Japanese noodle restaurant, H.E. and I walked over to Ebisu, the Japanese grocery store. We bought a few things for dinner later, namely packaged sushi and sashimi, pickled daikon, fish cake, and the like. At the register, I heard the cashier do something I thought only Albertson’s cashiers do, where they’re always pointing out their specially featured item at the end of the counter—I thought I heard the Japanese cashier doing some upselling, asking H.E. if he wanted some chapstick as well.

That’s weird, I thought. Chapstick, of all things.

I didn’t hear H.E.’s response to it, or if he even responded at all, but the cashier continued ringing up the Japanese food and passing them on to the bagger who, when I came around to place the bags in the cart, asked me if I wanted any chapstick.

Weird, I thought again, while I said, “No, thanks.” Then I wondered if she knew that my lips have been chapped a lot lately—I’ve been a little dehydrated. Maybe she was just the epitome of knowledge and consideration. Maybe I should apply some Blistex to my lips when I got home. I conciously bit at my lip.

“You already have chapsticks?” she asked.

I actually paused a second to think about this. Yes, I have Blistex at home somewhere. I was almost absolutely sure of it. Then I realized…

“Did you say chopsticks? Or chapstick?”

She grabbed a couple of disposable wooden chopsticks and held them up. “Chopsticks.”

God, did I feel stupid. Of course they’d offer chopsticks to people buying sushi and sashimi. Who in the hell would offer chapstick?

“Yes, please. We’ll take some chopsticks.”

Later I remarked to H.E. that chapsticks could actually make decent chopsticks if they were a bit longer.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “and the parafin would add that special something to the flavor.”

Which is silly, of course … because I’d totally leave the caps on.

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