Bread and Fish

Whenever Alan or I get stressed, we do this thing where we breathe out as long as we can and say:

Whooooooooooosh.

It helps, really. I’m pretty sure I started it, as I’m a bit more whooooooshy than Alan. But you know, once couples are together long enough they start finishing each others’ sentences.

This past weekend it took a new turn. 

I’ve been working furiously on artwork for an upcoming show, finishing All The Things while solving a major supply chain issue and tackling a smattering of odd challenges that got lumped on my plate like an extra helping of cafeteria stroganoff. 

We went out to dinner to decompress, and sat next to a couple that had clearly been together long enoug–

– to finish each others’ sentences. (And perhaps long enough to have run out of things to say.) Their quiet, rhythmic dialog went something like this:

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What should I get? I can’t eat meat

You can’t eat meat. Just get the fish. 

I do like fishhhh.

You do like fishhhhhh.

Should I get the fishhhhhh? It comes with bread. And breaded fishhhhhhh. Will I like this dishhhhhhhhh?

Yes, you like bread and breaded fishhhhhhhh. 

I’ll get the fishhhhhhhhhhhh. 

How is your dishhhhhhhhhh?

It’s breaded fishhhhhhhhhhhh. And bread with fishhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 
Here’s the bread, and here’s the fishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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It was it own whooshy form of poetry. Dr. Seuss meets comfort food. There was something oddly calming about it, each fishy whoosh slightly longer than the last.

My own whooshes have taken a different tone since then.

Bread and fishhhhhhhhh. And breaded fishhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It helps, really. I don’t know why, but it does. 

Artwork? Fishhhhhhhhh.
Supply chain? Fishhhhhhhhhh.
A surprise rush order that needs to get halfway around the world by Thursday? 
Breaded fishhhhhhhhhhhhh and bread with fishhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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So if you’re feeling stressed, give it a try. It’s simple, really. All you need are two ingredients: 

A piece of bread
and a piece of fishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.