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I HATE Lutefisk
By Zari Stilwell
I hate lutefisk. Well, maybe not all lutefisk; after all, I don’t hate my dog. That’s my dog’s name: Lutefisk. ... It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you the short version.
My Scandinavian cousin, Rita, lives in Germany, so I didn’t get the chance to se her very often when I was younger. ...
Anyway, when all of my other party guests left, my mother said I had one more present to open, and she dragged out a huge cardboard box. Now after I figured out that the box itself was indeed not the present (she said I had to unwrap it, and apparently the box had already been unwrapped), I noticed that the contents of the box was whimpering and squirming quite excitedly; thus leading me to the obvious conclusion of what was in the box: a pony. To my utter disappointment, though, I was wrong. ... When I saw it was not a pony, my first reaction was to cry, but the puppy beat me to it. ... “You should call him ‘Lutefisk’. ... I will never forget those words, and I will never forget asking her at least seventeen-thousand-thirty-two-million times what the heck lutefisk was.
Six years and thirty-three days later, I had no clue, no hint, no possible warning, that I was going to learn once and for all, the biggest question in life: what are those little orange candy peanuts really made of? Then I bought a bag of them and read the ingredients label. ... I should have guessed from the taste.
My life’s biggest mystery solved and over, I went to my second most important one: what is ‘lutefisk’, anyway? Well, I was about to find out. ... Next thing I know, I’m getting my picture taken for a passport and being shipped of to Europe. I really wish people would tell me things.
Approximate Word count = 1601
Approximate Pages = 6.4
(250 words per page double spaced)
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