Fish? Chicken? Damn!

Recently, a travesty of nature occurred.

In a fit of delirium brought on by massive amounts of work and very little rest--and in the middle of a show-day in San Diego, The Professional found herself face to face with a dinner spread at the House of Blues. She had been on a diet of coffee for the previous three days, with work consuming her so much so that she could not remember to eat. The food looked so good. It was fresh and piping hot, and The Professional was enraptured at the spread. She hurried over to fix herself a plate.

She piled her fresh white china with mac & cheese and vegetables, but passed on the grilled fish. You see, The Professional isn't a seafood eater. In fact, seafood hadn't seen her system in over 20 years for a variety of reasons--the primary one being that she had always been disgusted by the taste, texture and smell of it. She thinks that all sea creatures are gross--even when alive. And for these reasons, she just doesn't eat it. She'll sit fashionably fabulous in the posh-est of sushi restaurants and order the chicken teriyaki with a sincerely straight face. Yes, its that serious.

So when The Professional opened the serving platter with
the fried chicken breasts, she thought "yesss!!!!" She added one to her plate and commenced to inhaling the food quickly before getting back to work. As she gobbled the chicken breast down, she wondered "why is it so flaky?" This didn't seem like any chicken breast she had eaten before. And its flavor seemed a bit off. But the hunger took over and she had wolfed down three huge bites of chicken before it hit her: This was no chicken breast. It was... *gasp!* ... FRIED CATFISH!!

When the realization hit her, The Professional felt a wave of horror overtake her body. Her face went white, and tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. No, she's not technically "allergic" to seafood, but she might as well be. The Hunger Devil tricked her into ingesting fish--catfish no, less (gross!)--and she was absolutely mortified. She sat frozen for a moment, completely unable to process what had just happened. Should she gag herself and yaak it up? Should she act like it didn't happen and erase it from her memory? Should she cry?

Ultimately, she didn't do any of those things. Though she didn't make herself sick or throw a tantrum, she was definitely sincerely traumatized. The Professional hurt her own feelings real bad that day, and it still stings to retell the story. Her colleagues chuckle about the brief moment in which they saw The Professional emotionally unravel. It was indeed a rare moment--never again to be duplicated.

And now, The Professional raises her glass to a (new) 20 years of no seafood eating. Thank you and good day.