Fish And Yogurt
There's a little fish in that pond, about four inches long. Silver, with a forked tail.
"Do you see that?" I ask Gloria. I point to the small fish, who is currently swimming in a sea of similarly-sized orange koi fish.
"Yes," she says. "He's the only one."
"That's a freshwater tuna," I say.
"Tuna can be that small?" she asks.
"Sure, when they're babies," I say. "Freshwater tuna are very rare, though. See the forked tail?"
"Forked tails are for speed," I say. "Fish with forked tails are much faster swimmers."
"I didn't know that," she says.
We stay on the railing for a few seconds, looking at the fish.
"You realize that when we get home, I can tell Eli I convinced you that freshwater tuna exist," I say.
"What? Arghhhh!" She laughs. "You can sound so convincing," she says. "I have to remind myself that you can never be trusted."
"A sound strategy," I say.
We walk over to a yogurt shop located near the freswater tuna pond. It's very mod, this little yogurt shop, and as I start to look at the flavors, something catches my eye.
I try a sample. My head spins.
"Every time I think we've stopped progressing as a society," I say, "something happens to remind me that we're still moving upward."
"Why is that?" she asks.
"Cake batter yogurt," I say. "It's like somebody poured sugar into a vat full of sugar. And it tastes just like cake batter."
A miracle, really.