Zoiks! It’s Tuesday already!

The weekend was really the epitome of uneventful. The downward turn began on Friday when it was clear that the tummy demon possessing Neil was perhaps more sinister than the flu. I’ll spare you the traipse into territory that qualifies as “more than you need to know,” but understand that the weekend was filled with a bland diet, lots of fluids and more Star Trek reruns than you can shake a photon torpedo at.

The highlight had to be the brief outing to a local garden centre to visit their fish and bird section, followed by a stop at the grocery store. Several bottles of isotonic fluid replacement drinks for him, several bottles of wine for me. Hey, someone has to stay focused on upholding the norm…

After a really rough day yesterday, I walked to town to personify Doctor Jen, returning with assorted medications from both the standard pharmacy and the local health food/supplement shop. My blend of science and nature seems to be working as the “Zombie Boy from Planet Loo” appears to be on the mend. We did visit the doctor yesterday and are awaiting test results regarding the specific cause of the gastro-intestinal fiasco, but when telling my mom about it all on a Skype call last night, I think she nailed it as being “fish eye-itis.”
I’ll explain.
In true American reality TV fashion, my Welsh fella put aside better judgement when the nice Portuguese man extracted a well cooked fish eye from the bare-boned Red Snapper carcass we had just stripped of meat, telling us that there are still many “good bits” left in the head. With the precision of a surgeon, he sliced out a hefty chunk of spooky ocular matter from the remains of dinner. He claimed his daughters fight over who gets the eyes because they are so tasty. Uh-huh. Neil took that which I refused and ate all but the hard lump that resembled a tiny olive pit. I now think of my mom’s diagnosis and believe that this hard mass just might have been the secret antidote for “fish eye-itis.” Silly sod. Next time, eat the whole fricking thing. Pansy.

Beyond that somewhat unreasonable explanation, we’re just not sure what’s made him so ill, but signs point to the worst being over. Yay! The day will be sprinkled with intermittent spurts of work and rest as we both have plenty to get done. So, for now, my advice is:
Don’t eat fish eyes, but if you do, don’t pussy out when it comes to the pit – It just might be the best part for you. At the very least, it can’t be any worse. (However, I suggest total avoidance of the icky stuff from a fish head. That’s what I’m practising and all seems well so far…) 😉


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6 thoughts on “Zoiks! It’s Tuesday already!”

  1. I’ll eat just about anything, I will not eat anything that stares at me though. I hope Neil starts getting better, sounds like he is. When it really comes down to it, he was braver than you, but now he is praying to the all-mighty porcelin god!

  2. Eeeeoooo. Fish-eye goo. Gag. I’m with you, total avoidance of icky stuff from a fish head has worked perfectly for me for 45 years. Why break a winning streak.

  3. The fish eye was cool, if a little overly draped with gooey dribble bits (why is it when someone tells you you’ve missed “the best bits of the [insert any animal here]” it’s always something gross?).

    I’d never eat the tail, that’s at the back and gets constantly washed by all the waste and excess from all other parts of the fish. The eyes, however, are always nice and clean.

    The surprising bit was discovering they grill sardines complete with their guts intact – which had too strong a flavour for my taste so I avoided (most of) them.

    Test results are back today and I’m just hoping the cause is something I can name and dress up in a Santa suit.

  4. I’m with Chuck on this. Eeeeoooo! On the other hand, if given a choice, I would eat a dead, cooked fish eye before I’d eat a live, wiggling grub as is done in some parts of the world. The thought of it moving around while I’m trying to get my teeth in it …oh boy, that gets my gag response going.

  5. I can’t believe we are all talking about poor Neil eating the fish eye here and then having to worship the allmighty-porcelin God more than is healthy for any fit bottom or tum.

    How do you think the scared tiny squeeshy fish eye felt when it got forked and then popped into his mouth with biiiig teeth glistening at it!? All fish-eye protectors know that it gave its all to desperately hop from tongue to cheek to tonsil trying to avoid those razor-sharp shark teeth (well, let’s face it, it’s only a gooey fish eye so even some cotton wool held the right way will be too sharp for its green tender well-moisturised and slightly slimey skin). Those heartless Neil-owned teeth crushed down on poor little Fish Eye even though it was leaving a fresh snail-slime like trail all over Neil’s mouth – I truly believe it was soiling itself at this stage! And the icing of the cake is that it got relentlessly chewed into a pasty gut turning goo, to be swallowed and squashed down to start the long road to ‘tum tum’ (1.2km to go and there WAS light at the end of the tunnel). Isn’t it obvious by now, fellow fish eaters??

    It’s ThE rEvEnGe Of ThE fIsH eYe!
    –Rest in peace, my squeeshy friend–

    (By the way Neil, hope you feel better real soon and stay away from Fish Eye’s family – which may or may not include the tail, but that’s another story)!

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