Wasabi Easter

The eighteenth wasabi pea died within me. I had no warning. It had been poisoned.

Why?! I cried.

No answer.

We had been on our way to a ceilidh which was being held in honour of the pope, who had recently visited Rome and said he like that style of dancing. Three hundred girls were dressed in red and I was to have been at the head of the table in my bananaman costume which I have had since I was six. The pope was going to sing Oh Come All Ye Faithful and at the end we were all going to pretend we were lobsters. I was looking forward to it.

Somebody had given me a tin of wasabi peas in the house that afternoon.

What are these? I asked.

Wasabi, a gift, for you. With love from me. I can't remember who it was, who said those words.

There were nineteen peas in the tin and the eighteenth one was poisoned and died within me and the sorrow I felt meant that the night had to be cancelled. We turned the car around and I went straight to bed.

A dreadful way to celebrate Easter.