The Poison Fish Incident
Posted: Friday, December 09, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
I like to think I’m a compassionate guy. I suppose most people like to think the best about themselves, though. I realize that I sometimes fall short. After all, none of us is perfect. My wife, on the other hand, thinks I am consistently and invariably an insensitive jerk. I often take offence to that. When we argue about it, she throws in my face examples of bad behavior that she’s accumulated over the past 40 years. I claim she’s just cherry-picking them out of a bushel basket full of admirable performances. An episode that she frequently claims is positive proof that I’m just plain despicable is the poison fish incident.
My wife loves ‘striper.’ I left half of it at home for her and threw the rest into the ice chest when I headed up state. The package had softened a little by the time I got there and unloaded. I threw it in the freezer with the rest of the meat. Monday night I took all the good stuff out and put it in the refrigerator to start to thaw--the pheasant and goose breasts, the squirrel parts, the venison hamburger, and the fish.
Tuesday during Deer Week, I only hunt in the morning. I spend the rest of the day preparing for the Game Feed. My fricassee squirrel and pheasant, poached in cream and served over egg noodles with peas are always real popular entrees. They take a lot of work, though. The fish is easy, so I left it in the refrigerator till near mealtime.
There was a good four pounds of ‘striper.’ When I unwrapped the package, the fish was still partly frozen. I separated off a couple large filets and threw the rest back in the freezer. I sprinkled it with blackened seasoning and seared it in extra virgin olive oil. It was delicious. There wasn’t a scrap of it (or one can of beer), left by the end of the evening.
I’d had a good small game season that year, so there was a lot of stuff I hadn’t even bothered to thaw out. I threw it all in back the ice chest when I packed up at the end of the week—including the ‘striper.’ The womenfolk seem to have an attitude about Deer Camp. It’s much less rambunctious and decadent than they imagine—I promise. I somewhat abated the wife’s suspicious aloofness when I got home by announcing that I’d saved her some ‘striper.’ I threw it in the refrigerator to finish thawing out.
The next day she cooked it up and, probably out of spite for me having been away for a week with ‘the guys,’ she ate it all herself. I didn’t protest. I’m usually very quiet and well behaved for a few days after Deer Camp. She’s real touchy and apt to snap out at me about something little for a while after I get home.
When I got home from work the next day she was nowhere around. I finally tracked her down in the back bathroom after I heard some strange noises coming from out there. “What’s going on?” I asked and pushed on the door that was partly open.
“I’m sick,” she pathetically groaned.
She was sitting there with a bucket in front of her on the floor. He face was wan, her eyes bloodshot. As I watched, she bent forward and violently wretched into the bucket and released from the other end at the same time. It reminded me of a guy up at Deer Camp. He did the same thing, but it was from mixing wine and whiskey on top of the fricasseed squirrel. I felt sorry for her. I really did. But, I couldn’t help myself. It realy was a sight to see. I laughed.
She slammed the door in my face and, before she started puking again, she yelled, “You uncompassionate ass!”
I had to get my own supper. She didn’t say a word when she came out of the bathroom carrying her bucket. She just glared at me (she did look really sick), and went straight to the bedroom. When I heard her being sick in there a few times during the evening, I went in to see if she needed anything. She just gave me that evil-eye she has and growled, “No!”
I thought about it for a while and got a little suspicious. It was a few days until I had the nerve to ask her how the fish tasted. She freaked out at me. I was afraid she was going to hit me with something. I grabbed the car keys and went for a drive.
Now, anytime I slip up and maybe show a little insensitivity, I have to hear about it all over again. “Remember the time you poisoned me with the rotten fish then laughed at me when I was dying?”
Yeah, I remember it. But she isn’t giving me credit for the thought behind it. I was going to throw the fish out, but knew how much she liked it so I brought it home. It might have been a bad idea, but I was thinking of her, wanted to please her. Sometimes the best laid plans of mice and (the most sensitive of), men go astray.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Maybe it wasn't the fish that made her sick, some stomach virus's only last 24 hrs....it could have just all happened at the same time. NO, it was your fault, I'm sure of it..at least it looks that way. Great story.
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