Love can be shitty

DISCLAIMER:
To Mom Mom and any other person who will be offended by vulgarity. I apologize in advance. I fully intend to offer a rosary up as penance for this piece, though I do think God has a sense of humor.

"Whatever you had planned, can be put off! I'm going to take care of dinner tonight!" he starts. "I've got to be in Philly today, at the Convention center which means I'll be right next to the the Market*. How about I pick up some sausage & fish for dinner? I'll throw it on the grill. We can have a nice meal. What do you think?"

*Reading Terminal Market. 

"Yippee! Sounds like a plan!" I eagerly respond. "Throw those chicken thighs back in the freezer."

Coming home from the park, just after six, he is in his glory in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"I got this fish, something called butterfish. It's like a white tuna. Supposedly it cooks well" he says as he holds up the sturdy piece of white fish. "I was considering doing a full fish."

I crinkle my nose in response.

"Glad I steered clear of the whole fish then. I got some green onions and asparagus too. I picked up a kielbasa for the girls. Should be a good dinner." he finishes, heading to the door. "I've got the grill warmed up. I'll be back in a few."

Dinner is fabulous.

The fish has a light buttery flavor which is further complimented by the garlic, onions, olive oil and lemon juice he uses as a marinade. The grilled asparagus and green onions have similar seasonings, creating quite a delicious meal.

And really, a meal cooked for you always does seem to taste that much better.

I quickly devour the fish.

"It's so light, yet has a steak like bite" I say. "Good pick, Babe."

"Thanks" he continues. "They had sword(fish), tuna, and some other stuff, but this looked pretty fresh. Plus, we like to try new things."

In between my own bites, I notice he has consumed little of his own.

"What's up?" I ask. "Aren't you feeling it?"

"Ah, it's okay." he says. "You know how it is. Most of the time when I cook something I end up not eating too much of it. It's just how it is. I cooked this because I know you love it."

I smile. "Thanks babe!" I offer.

"You know," he says, "the last time I think I really actually ate a lot of what I cooked was when I made that paella. Remember that? Ah, that was a good meal!"

"Yeah." I nod. "You did house that!"

I look down, and notice my plate is empty, save for a few pieces of scaly fish skin.

"Well, for me. You can totally pick up this butter fish again. Good pick!"

Having suffered a migraine earlier in the day, I head to bed earlier than usual.

I am surprised when I find Bry standing next to the bed, waking me up.

Glancing to the clock, it's just after midnight.

"Seriously?" I ask. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"No." he says, in a serious tone. "You need to hear this."

I am awake now, anxiously awaiting his comment.

"What?" I ask. "What's up?"

"You're going to hate me. Remember that fish you just ate?" he starts, panic in his voice.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You know how we've never heard about it before?"

"Yeah."

His voice is calm as he responds, "So I googled it and well, it can cause anal leakage."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask, my voice now just under shouting.

"Apparently, it's some sort of fish, called escolar but people also call it white tuna or butterfish. It has some thing in it similar to that shit that used to be chips. You know, that olestra crap?" he rambles.

"Wait a second, that olestra crap made people shit themselves, right? That stuff was horrible!" I say.

"Well, this fish has something similar in it and it causes people to basically have liquid poo." he says.

"Why do they sell this? Who would eat it then? Why didn't we know?" I ask, wondering what sane person would consume such a food.

"Can you believe people consider it a delicacy?" he continues, "Some people eat it as sushi. But the magic number is 6 ounces. From what I read, if you eat under 6 ounces you'll be fine."

I take a breath and then ask, "How much would say was my piece?"

"7 ounces." he can't help but laugh as he responds.

"Fuck me. How long will this shit last?" I say.

He looks to me and says, "Well that's the main reason I woke you up. I didn't want you freaking out, thinking you were just farting in the middle of the night, and then it ends up you shit yourself, not just poo, but orange-yellowish oil that you can't control. There seems to be a consensus between 30 minutes and 36 hours for you to process this."

I am in disbelief this time. "It might take a day and a half for me to shit this shit out?"

"Well" he finishes, "I just wanted you to know. You know, so you don't freak out. You know, just in case you shit yourself."

"I guess I should say thanks?" I ask. "Really, I mean thanks for the heads up, but don't get that fish ever again."

He inches closer, kissing me on my forehead. "Good night babe. I love you so much and I'm so sorry about this fish shit. Sleep tight."

"Yeah, thanks" I say, as I turn over adjusting the pillow under my head.

Thankfully, the cast iron stomach I have inherited from my father keeps the escolar from doing it's damage. However, the simple threat of its power keeps me from sleeping soundly that night, for fear of my own ass leaking orange-yellow excrement.

Needless to say, the next time Bry heads to the Market, butterfish will not be on the shopping list.


After that, holy emotional post Batman! that was my submission last week, I've decided to link this stellar piece with Yeah Write! I really can't wait to read this comments. Please feel free to submit ideas for alternative titles, because, well, anal leakage brings out the best in everyone!