Fishy Fishy

So, this week, Sunny and I went grocery shopping…as is our custom, when we’re hungry and there’s no food in the house.

“You know what I really feel like?” I said.

“What’s that?” Asked Sunny.

“Some fish. We haven’t had fish in ages.”

“Fish? You want fish?” She asked, incredulously.

This is a phenomenon I’ll never understand. You see, despite the fact that there’s pretty much no type of fish I don’t like, everyone lives under the mistaken belief that not only do I not like fish…but I detest it with the Fury of the Gods, the Wrath of Kings and the Burning Intensity of a Thousand Suns.

When I lived in England, I’d ask my dear mother for fish when she asked what the wanted for dinner…then we’d get into a 15 minute argument whether I like fish or not.

I like fish. I could walk up to my mother and Sunny and say in a clear loud voice:

“I Like Fish!”

Then, mere minutes later, if I so much as mentioned fish, both would insist I don’t like fish, have never liked fish, and will never in a million years eat fish.

So, after the argument…we bought some fish.

Then, today, Sunny is getting ready to take something out of the freezer for dinner.

“EEEEEWWW! EEEEW, EW, EWWWWW!” I hear from the kitchen.

Expecting a mouse, or for something to have rotted in the freezer, I investigate.

Sunny is pointing at the box of fish we bought, like is was a maggot infested rat carcass.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s FISH!” She says, startled.

“Well, I know it’s fish.” I say. “It says so right on the box.”

“No, but it’s fish fish.”

“Fish fish?” I ask, puzzled.

Eventually it turned out that sunny was stunned, shocked and amazed that the fish we bought actually had scales. It was basically a box of fish that had been cleaned, but otherwise left intact.

It seems my wife doesn’t understand that fish doesn’t come out of the ocean filleted, battered and deep fried.

I don’t know whether to tell her that those things we catch out of the pond with the fishing poles are actual fish…might put her off eating them for life.