Wasabi
Adrian reached for his Mum’s hand.
‘Mummy, I think I can totally handle wasabi now. Like... it’s not too spicy or anything.’
Adrian’s mother offered an encouraging smile.
‘Of course you can darling. I knew you’d do it.’
And you’re 42 years old, she thought.
And she knew she’d never tell him the full story. He couldn’t know.
That she had always bought him medium sized underpants and sewn an XL tag into the waistband to reassure him he was a big boy.
That she’d cleared the children’s hill on a family ski trip and assured him this was a black diamond run.
That the wasabi industrial complex had gradually diluted the version of its green condiment that was manufactured for Anglophone markets with mushed up peas and broccoli stems.