Sushi or Poor Lynda

I love sushi and I've found that it's kinda like heroin (not that I've ever tried heroin). You have a little bit and then you crave sushi until you can have it again. I've been known to have sushi for lunch and absolutely not be able to contain myself, and have it again for dinner. I have a feeling, that if it was financially feasable, I would have sushi at least 2-3 times a day.
So it was one of those times where I had sushi earlier in the week and it was getting to be lunchtime and all I could think about was sushi. Are we sure they're not sprinkling cocaine on that stuff??? So I had found a place near my office and talked my co-worker Lynda into joining me.
You need to take into consideration several things before reading the remainder of the story. 1.) I wasn't really listening to what was going on. I was too busy trying to decide what, of all the glories of sushi, I was about to consume. It was only after what happened that my brain pieced together what I had heard. 2.) There were 3 accents going on at the table. Mine- West TX, which really doesn't matter but we thought we'd throw it in there just for kicks. Lynda's- Russian, she's lived here for about 6 years and speaks fabulous English but her accent is still there. Our Waiter's- Japanese.
So, while I was trying to decide between 2 different lunch combos and ended up getting both (miso soup, 4 pieces of Yellowtail, a spicy tuna roll, and a spicy salmon roll, yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm), the following conversation is going on
L: I would like 5 ikura
W: 5 ikura?
L: Yes 5 salmon
W: You want 5 salmon roe?
L: Yes I want 5 salmon rolls
Now, if you eat sushi you have already figured out the end of this story. Lynda had ended this conversation thinking that she had ordered 5 pieces of salmon. The waiter had thought otherwise. As the waiter returns w/ our plates, I see the 5 very seaweed wrapped piles of salmon eggs. I saw the look on Lynda's face and realized that she was hoping that those 5 pieces were coming to be, but as she counted the individual pieces the, lets say shock for lack of a better word, came over her face.
I have to give her this. If it had been me, I would have probably started crying or begged the waiter to take back the big orange balls that stared up at her. But instead she said, "Well at least in Russia it's considered a delicacy." And popped it in her mouth.