Do you have a favorite food? I wouldn’t say I’m a foodie considering I love most foods, but I can’t stand seafood. Not to mention that no one abides by the unspoken rule that the only fish allowed at work is goldfish. It’s gotten so bad I know when Karen is making lunch because that rancid smell comes charging in my office. Do you know what bothers me even more? When people eat it raw—it’s completely ludicrous. I bet the caveman that discovered that cooked food is better for you is rolling in his grave every time someone orders sashimi.
Let’s take a step back. I’m not one of those people who say they don’t like something without first trying it. I’ve tried a variety of fish. Whether it was trout, salmon, tuna, or even sardines, every sea creature was simply revolting. However, out of all sea life, the single most vile creature that can rot in Davy Jones’s locker was that horrific ocean cat. I mean, come on, those aquatic mouse catchers always look like they’re scheming against humanity, with those long wiggly barbels. But there was one that was truly the worst of the worst. I thought I could trust this catfish, given my past betrayals. I thought this one was different because we had a genuine connection, and I could see a future with them. But just like before, that vile gill-breathing cat gave me a big wet Judas kiss right on the lips. Okay, you’re probably wondering what I’m going on about. Well, I’ll be glad to tell you.
It all started two years ago, around Christmas.