BROUGHT LOW BY SHRIMP POOP
I don’t like to touch my food.
Everyone who knows me is aware of this.
It has been the source of much amusement at my expense.
“How do you eat a drumstick?”
“Or a chop?”
“Or a sandwich?”
“Or a burger?
With a knife and fork, of course.
I remember my first visit to a McDonalds. Many moons ago. We ordered, the Captain and son walked off. Noticed I wasn’t following and asked,
“What are you waiting for?”
“My knife and fork,” I told them.
At least I’m one up on my sainted brother Anthon who even tried to eat cheese and biscuits with a knife and fork.
One of my favorite foods is shrimp. Nice and clean and ready to be disposed of with a knife and fork.
If I must clean them, I order something else.
Sometimes the Captain buys shrimp. He cleans them, deveins them and steams them.
The restaurant at the end of C-pier where we are for the summer, is a short walk from the boat.
They offer steamed shrimp.
With their shells on.
“But,” said the Captain. “I’ll clean them for you.”
Oh, the things we do for love. The man’s a keeper.
Sounded good to me. All I’d need do would be to daintily pick up the shrimp by the tail, dip it in the cocktail sauce and deposit it in my mouth.
I could even use a fork!
I even cleaned a few myself. And sat with fingers splayed.
So, there was no reason on earth I should be nauseous a few hours later. Plus, headachy. And thirsty.
We went over everything I’d eaten and drunk. Even the “Lifejacket” (very weak vodka and mint lemonade) came under scrutiny.
Finally, the Captain had a light bulb moment.
“You’re developing a shellfish allergy,” he pronounced.
Well wouldn’t that be a bummer?
I already don’t eat crab, oysters and clams, but I do eat mussels and lobster.
And I love shrimp!
“But,” he continued, “It could be the veins. Those shrimps weren’t deveined.”
Images formed in my mind of the disgusting stuff the shrimp might have dined on.
That were in their digestive tracts.
And now rested in mine.
Recovery was slow.
I had to cancel a shopping trip for fabric and a Pilates workout with a “to-die-for” trainer.
Yup, brought low by Shrimp Poop.
And I think of the times in years gone by when I was brought low by an unkind word. Or machinations behind my back. Maybe even done without malicious intent.
And promise myself to be vigilant in what I say.
Cyber hugs and Blessings All.
3 Set a guard over my mouth, Lord;
keep watch over the door of my lips.