“That’s it?”
“What’s it?”
“That.”
“What do you mean, that?”
“That’s all you’re having for dinner?”
“It’s no less than what I have at home.”
Jared had a point here; he was not exaggerating. We were both living in Japan at the time, and Jared was my regular hiking, ice-climbing and mountain-biking buddy, and we’d become best friends. Anyway, we were on an overnight trip, just a single night, and what he’d brought for dinner was this: Rice. Literally nothing else.
This was not a result of him trying to pack as light as possible, nor was much better.” And knowing that he, like I, was a massive tightarse, I assured him that a dash or two wouldn’t cost that much. But no, Jared wasn’t having a bar of it. “I don’t need it,” he said flatly.
