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MOTH SURPRISE |
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By Matthew Craig. |
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Just when you're down, life kicks you in the nuts, and steals your car. |
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I'd like to think that I'm one of those people who will persevere in the face of adversity. A glass-is-half-full kinda guy. And, to a certain extent, that's true. Work troubles, girl troubles, health: all taken in my stride.
Just like everybody else, I manage. |
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Then something comes along to change that. Something happens, and it doesn't have to be a big thing, and it knocks your day on its ear. |
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In honour of my dinner last Monday night, I want to call this the "Moth Surprise" phenomenon. |
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After a weekend of moving house for the second time in five days (fourth floor, eschewing lifts for stairs), coupled with having to face the prospect of the Dole again, I settled down to the first homecooked meal I'd had in months. Chicken, carrots, and peas. |
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And a moth. |
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A dead frickin'moth, dropped right into the middle of my slap-up tea. |
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Now. I can hear you saying: "Why didn't you eat around the bloody moth? What's wrong with you?" |
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Well. I have my reasons. |
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1. Dead moths do not a nice dinner make. I had no idea at what point the hymenopterous bastard had entered the dinner-making process. For all I know, he might have fluttered into the pressure cooker with the spuds and been autoclaved (in which case it was probably okay, but I digress...).
2. I've been bitten once or twice before by food that I thought was dodgy, but ate anyway. I lost a stone in three days after eating eggs that I knew were bad. I knew eating noodles half-cooked in coffee machine water wasn't the smartest of moves, but I yummed them down anyway. Eventually, my colon turned into a mortar cannon, resulting in a night of terror I've spent the last eight years trying to forget (seriously: my arse tried to escape).
3. I'm not eating dinner contaminated by a filthy fucking moth. So there. |
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So, to avoid any potential poisoning, I left the chitinous dinner aside, in favour of a mighty amount of pasta and some red filth. |
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I decided to treat myself to my favourite Indian snack (Vegetable Samosa), topped off with my favourite Greek sauce (Tzatziki). |
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I promptly spilled half the samosa down my shirt, and found that the Tzatziki was not only off, but had separated into something that might ooze from a genital infection...and cucumber. |
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And then got diahorrea anyway. |
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Moral of the story: no matter how crappy life treats you, things can always get worse. |
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What? You wanted a happy ending? This happens to me all the time, and people think I'm just paranoid about my food. |
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Okay. Happy ending: Once, my buddy sneezed all over my dinner and I ate it, with no ill effects. There. New moral: Gammon tastes better with snot. |
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Matthew Craig, 4th July. Delirious. |
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