photo credit: Grantsviews
When we had kids, we came to an arrangement. I would do all the poo and vomit and he would do the teeth and nails, because I’m totally squeamish about teeth and nails. I know, I don’t understand it either, but there you are.
So now I’m on my own, I get the full joy of pulling out those wobbly bleeding teeth of my now ten year old, who thankfully doesn’t have many of them left, but I’ve dealt with the last five years worth of them. Also the cutting of the toe nails which I can never do right and almost always ends in tears, both of ours. The ten year old for nearly losing his toes, and me for causing him so much pain and anguish and for being the one who has to do it even though we had a deal.
Last night I made myself some prawns. I saw a really quick nice recipe on Everyday Italian and decided to try it. I totally forgot about the preparation that goes into prawns when I bought six green prawns from the fishmonger. When I unwrapped the package I was face to face, literally, with six green bug eyed prawns that I would now have to de-head, de-vein and then cook. OMG another deal breaker I had forgotten all about. Whenever we had prawns together, he would always de-head and de-vein them and I would cook them. No wonder I haven’t made them myself for so long. Funny the things you forget I guess.
Anyway I so didn’t want to eat the bloody prawns after I succesfully de-headed them and cleaned their tracts. I also washed them for good measure, because I don’t know if you’ve ever eaten a bad prawn, but I have, and I choose death over eating another one. So I am super careful and very suspect about every single prawn.
I ate five of the six once I’d grilled them and sauced them with pesto and lemon. They were delicious I guess but they
made me feel sick as I was eating them, remembering the preparation I had to do. If I’m to do it again, I will ask for them already done, but I think it will be a very long time before I do that again.
It got me thinking though how suicide itself is a deal breaker. The worst of all marriage vows to break, aside from the small deals you make with each other, like the nails versus poo. Til death do us part has been chosen by a partner, so miserable in your life that they chose death instead. Pretty severe. I’ve done my therapy and I believe it wasn’t because I was a bad wife, but there is always a hint of doubt I guess. The most predominant emotion is anger, again, that above everything else he had promised to be with me, to help me raise our children, to open jars, fix the television, check out the weird noises at night and kill spiders. All that is left to me now, and it sucks sometimes and I will have trouble ever believing another human being when they tell me, they’ll be here for me.
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