26 April 2013
659
R. Linda:
Though we live in the woods and wilds of New Hampshire, we do have a close-knit relationship with the four closest neighbours, which, if you consider we are all ten acres apart, isn't that close, especially when trees separate most of us. You can't see your neighbour to wave hello to. That aside, the crazy neighbours on the hill had a milestone birthday coming up. The husband was turning 70 and still not retired. He LIKES working, he does, and well . . . anyway, his twenty years younger wife (you think she's the reason he LIKES working or HAS to?) decided to throw a small 70th birthday party for him. Being the accommodating neighbours we all are, we asked what we could bring.
Now Lois, our resident flasher neighbour, wanted to bring a "seafood medley," which is a bisque of all sorts of fish thrown in a big pot where all the different fishy flavours steep together to make a relatively hardy soup or maybe it is a stew, I don't know which. We have all had this "seafood medley" at one time or another, and Harriet (the old guy's young wife), knowing this, told Lois it was a brilliant idea to bring that dish to the party.
About 30 minutes before we were all expected, Lois called and asked if I'd come up and help her because she made a giant pot of her fishy soup or stew, and so being me, the nice guy, I left Tonya to go on her own and was getting ready to go on up to Lois's when there was a knock on the door. I thought Tonya had forgotten her keys or something so I ran to the door and who was there? Not Tonya, but the young whippersnapper. His appearances at me abode are becoming more frequent, and I almost think he wants to move in with us.
He was dressed not in his usual British snappy designer clothing, but he looked like an American. He had on his Celtics tee shirt, his Boston Red Sox baseball cap and his Patriot jacket. I got it; he supported his adopted hometown and was proud of her. I opened the door and asked him, "Have you just been released from somewhere?"
"Nope, nope, noppers, just heah in da bestie citie in da whole worl and thought I'd tool on uppie ta see yer arse."
"Yup, I can see that," I said with a quick gesture to his kit as I let him in. The young whippersnapper asked for a Sam Adams (further showing his support of Boston), and having a few minutes, I thought it was the least I could do.
"So you've been here and I will assume you have been helping out somehow?" I said, handing him the beer.
"Ya knoz it. Can't let me peeps down." He said, toasting "his peeps," aka the people of Boston.
"I know you well enough you'll be here until you think they don't need you." I took a sip of the beer; yeah, I got a bottle, too.
"Welly, dey dunzint needies me much, dey iz pretty resilient all on dere own."
"Look," I said, looking at him hard, "could you just this once speak in English? I know you think that lingo is cool and all, but really? Considering?"
"Okie dokie jus fur you."
"So how's me "junk" doing?" I asked, thinking of all me stuff that went off into a dark night headed for the snow country of Colorado.
"OH yeah, THAT," says he with a grin, "I sold every last bit of it. And ya know what? Yer jacket fetched the most."
"You never did," I said, horrified.
"Actually, I sold it all ta Wolfie, so it stays in da family. Now alls ya hazt ta do iz buy it backie."
"Stop it. How is it really? You put it up someplace safe? Where YOUR wife won't throw it out?"
"Gabbie, yer trust in me is sadly lacking." He feigned hurt.
I knew this conversation would go on and on, so I cut to the chase and told him I had to leave. He looked all put out, so I told him he could stay at me abode until I got back. That further threw him into a slight sulk.
"Okay, what's one more, eh? Here," I said, getting a six-pack of Samuel Adams and handing it to him, "take this. You can present that as a gift or something to buy your way in."
"I can pay my way in." He said with a grin.
"Just take this. We must go to Lois's to help transport a large pot of fish stew." I said, grabbing me jacket and starting for the door.
"Iz she da one nevah wears clothes?" He asked, shutting the door behind him.
"Yup, that's the one. But she's fully dressed, or at least she better be, so I know you'll be disappointed."
"Da day iz young." Said he with a smile as we walked up the path toward Lois's.
We were no more than 60 feet away, and the smell of fish hit us smack in the nostrils. Both of us mumbled it smelled like a harbour, but we made our way to the door despite it. Lois had the screen door half cracked. I guess to help the wafting fish smell disperse.
"I betcha ya can smelly dis fishy stink all over da hill here," Weasil said, holding his breath.
I knocked, and Lois came straight away. She apologised for the smell.
"I had a mess of fish I chopped up. The pot has been on the heat for hours, breaking the meat down." She muttered, getting herself into her raincoat, which scares me because I remember the first time I met . . . correction . . . SAW her. I had been on the riding mower where a little bit of lawn meets up with her sheep pasture, and she was on her mower. I waved in friendly greeting, not having met her before, and she opened that damn raincoat and flashed me, causing me to fall off me mower and hit me head as she laughed her ample backside off and kept on mowing. I tell ya!
The pot was freaking heavy. I was glad of Weasil's being there as I had him take one handle and I took the other, and between us, we heaved it on out the door, Lois taking the six-pack. The pot was steaming the entire way to the crazy couple's house, and by the time we got there, I could hardly smell the fish because I had gotten used to it, but not Weasil; he was grumbling, he smelled like a red herring, and he thought we were doing a bad thing by toting the pot into the crazy couple's house because we were about to stink the place up with boiled fish. I shushed him long enough to catch up with Lois, who was already at the couple's door going inside.
"I hope she tastied dis befur she presents it ta everyone cuz it iz too fishy smellin' Gabbie, and we all gonner git sick," Weasil said as we approached the doorway. Harriet had been standing there greeting people, and when Lois had got up to her, her face had changed from a smile to a not-so-sure look. Like, what is that smell kind of look. I had been too busy listening to Weasil to think what Lois (who had spent hours with that fish smell) must really smell like when it dawned on me that Weas and I probably stank of fish since we had been in Lois's house no short while. Oi!
And I was right because as soon as we made it to the door, Harriet took several steps backwards. Her eyebrows had receded into her hairline and she coughed, but she put her hand to her nose, not her mouth.
"Sorry," I whispered, "but Lois . . . "
"Say no more," she gasped, "Just put it in the kitchen . . . quickly." And she disappeared. When I saw her again she had glade candles she had lit and was strategically placed about the rooms.
We did step in, Weasil's appearance going utterly unnoticed because the smell was more the thing.
As guests started arriving, there were a lot of questions about fish; the smell had permeated the entire house, and all of us (some more than others) smelt like fish. Weasil's words of warning had taken hold, and as I went to talk to Lois, I was grabbed by Tonya, who said, "Is that fish off? I mean, is it fresh?"
"How would I know? I didn't make it. But let me go ask before we all end up in hospital." And off I went to where Lois was holding court. It took me a few minutes to finally get her to meself, and I asked her right out if the fish were fresh.
"Oh, Gabe, you are funny. Yeah, I caught them myself." She joked. I guess it was the look on me face that stopped the levity, and she said more seriously, "I had fresh cod and haddock, but the crab and lobstah were frozen. My secrets out, huh?"
"How frozen is frozen?" I whispered politely.
"Well . . . let me see now, I think they have been in my freezah far six yeeahs," and she laughed when she saw me eyes get big. She said, "Okay, I think eight months. Yup, eight months."
I stood there calculating in the uneducated culinary part of me brain that eight months on fish or anything was too long. I shrugged to her unasked question and then put a finger up that I'd be right back. I went looking for the wife and whispered the question on my and Lois's mind.
Tonya pulled me to the side and whispered, "Well, as far as I know from my mother, any "fatty fish" lasts two or three months. Did she put salmon and tuna in the stew?" I shook me head. "Okay, I was told that lean fish will keep for maybe six months, but that's pushing it because the flavour will fade. Did she use cod?"
I nodded and told her THAT was fresh. It's the crab and lobster that were in question.
"Ohhh, I see," Tonya said, her eyes big. "Shellfish. Em . . . "
"Egg-zactly." I nodded.
"I've been told two days refrigerated, and if frozen, and it doesn't smell, it's probably okay, but I don't really know. But Gabe, that fish dish stinks; I can't think the fish are any good. She'll poison all of us if it isn't. And I don't know that anyone wants any of that stew or soup, but we have to keep people from being polite and trying it."
Meanwhile, behind me was Weasil talking to some pretty young thing, and I overheard THIS said to the young thing who thought him too good to be true (because he was): "I'm not married, and I don't get out much."
Besides the soup being dished out, HE had to be stopped from dishing out the lies. I was in a quandary I was. I grabbed him and, through clenched teeth, told him I needed to talk to him it was important. He smoothly did excuse himself, but he'd be right back. Oh boy. We went out back, and I told him quickly he was probably right about the fish stew. We needed to get that pot and accidentally spill it or do something.
"YOU could take a taste and say it needies more saltie, and I could beforehand unscrew the saltie cellar and then pour it in, ruining it." He said brightly.
"Not bad. Hey, wait a minute, why don't YOU do the tasting?"
"Gabbie, yah smell like a fish hatchery. Wait a sec." He said, digging in his pockets and bringing out spray breath freshener, which he proceeded to spray me with. I grabbed it away.
"Really? Because you smell like a fish and chips joint." I said, threatening to spray him back.
"Please do. I smell like you."
So I gave it back to him, he sprayed his hair and his underarms, and basically, I stood there trying to inhale fresh air when I saw people moving toward the table. I grabbed him and pulled him in with me, "Get the salt cellar and get it ready," I said, moving quickly to the head of the line.
I be sure me neighbours were not happy about me shoving them aside, but right behind me was Weasil and he had unscrewed the salt cellar. I saw Lois watching me, so I made to inhale the stew or bisque or whatever it was as if it smelled great. Tonya was beside Lois, and I knew she knew I was putting on a show. She wasn't sure what I was up to, but she knew I was up to something because Weasil was right by me side, AND THAT spells trouble.
So I got a spoon and dipped in the broth or bisque or whatever and took a tentative taste and made it like I was savouring the taste. But to be honest, it did taste off, so it was not without trepidation I announced it needed more salt!
Weasil had brought the salt cellar out like it magically appeared in his hand, but someone shouted, "It's fish it won't need salt, you'll ruin it."
Uh oh. I looked at Weasil, and his hand was raised over the pot in mid-air when he suddenly feigned a coughing fit where the salt shaker shook in his hand and as the spasm took him, the top flew off and he dropped the entire shaker in the soup, or stew or whatever.
There was a collective gasp as Lois ran forward to rescue the stew. I was pounding the young whippersnapper on the back as Lois fished out the empty salt cellar, and I watched in horror as she grabbed another spoon and stirred it around.
"Tastie dat first before ya serves it," Weasil choked.
She did and declared it, "Even bettah!" And smiled all around.
Weasil and I were frozen as our eyes met, and we knew she had to be stopped, but our best ploy didn't work. We didn't have a Plan B! But just as I thought we were all about to be hospitalised from poison stew, Harriet had (while Weasil and I were conspiring), got a few fans out and turned them on to circulate the fish smell out the open windows. It was pretty cool in that house, I must say, as a result, but as she turned on the last fan, which was aimed at the pot of fish poison, Weasil had a dastardly insane idea, and I knew it!
"Don't do anything too insane," there I voiced it.
"Insanity iz da new black Gabbie," he said and as the wind from the whirling blades hit him, he made like he lost his balance, and as he was going down, he grabbed not onto me, but the stew pot and SPLAT there he was on the floor covered in crab and lobster shells, bits of fish and a gooey liquid to top it off. It took all three seconds for him to realise the stuff was HOT! He jumped up, dancing around, pulling off his clothes much to Lois's appreciation, being a connoisseur of flashing people when they least expect it. I got him outside as Harriet's birthday boy came right behind and turned the hose on Weasil. Poor Weas went from instantly burning to colder than a witch's tit on a snowy day!
I have never seen him move so fast, well, never seen anyone move that fast, but he took off like a bat out of hell and me after him. I figured I wanted nothing to do with the cleanup on aisle nine and would rather get Weasil into dry clothing before he caught his death. More importantly, make sure he wasn't a burnt mess and needing a ride to the hospital.
As soon as he made me yard, me stupid setter caught a whiff of the fish smell, and as Weasil ran past, he was tackled by the setter whose tongue was busy licking the goo off Weasil's face.
"NOOO," he yelled as I got to the setter and pulled her off, "stupid hound will git sick!" He said, getting up as I closed the dog in the garden shed. You could hear her scratching at the shed door and whining and barking she wanted that fish stuff. Oi!
We went inside, where Weasil looked his rather red torso over and pronounced he was "good to go," and I told him to go shower, and I'd get some dry clothes and stick his gooey ones in the washer. I dunno about him sometimes.
I rang Tonya, who was about to leave to come to help us, but I told her to stay and that Weasil was fine. I also said if she didn't mind, we'd not be back, so please to give excuses. She said she would, she understood the sacrifice Weasil made even if no one else did, but she said Harriet knew and said to tell Weasil "thank you for not letting her get sued for serving poison fish stew."
"So you took one for the team," I said as Weasil reappeared dressed and smelling like soap instead of fish.
"I did at dat." He said, going to me fridge and getting a beer for him and one for me. "You need to shower as well, ya still smell like fish."
We clinked bottles, and I left for a shower as he ordered a pizza. I did check on the dog and let her out; she's okay; she didn't ingest much to make her sick. But the cat, now the cat, was an entirely different story. Mr. Kits walked around us yowling because he could still smell that stuff. He would not leave us alone. As a matter of fact, he stood on the dryer while Weasil's clothes were drying, letting us know he knew the fish was in the dryer. I tell ya!
The pizza arrived, and we took it out on the back porch to get away from the cat. I had replenished our beers and could still smell fish. I thought it was all in me head. I even asked Weasil if he was still smelling fish, and he said he was, with a sigh added to emphasise the hopelessness of it all. As I opened the pizza, I got a more pungent whiff of fish, which stopped me as I looked around and then thinking it was all still in me mind, I fully opened the pizza box to find . . . an anchovy pizza!
I wanted to take that box over the Weasil's head, but I got the joke. Though I could hardly eat that fishy treat from the overpowering smell wafting the breeze toward us from Lois's abode on the hill.
"Will smell awful for years up there," Weasil said.
"Yup, it will," I said, lifting the fish off me slice of pizza.
"And YOU and yers will be smelling that . . . prolly fer a longgg longgg time."
I took the three anchovies I had "fished" off me pie and put them on his slice. He didn't care; he chowed down and made all kinds of references to fish. I won't tell you what they were. They got dirtier and dirtier as we devoured the pie.
The only good thing is that he couldn't stand the smell, so he left for Boston. And if I wasn't a married sod, I'd have gone with him because it's been a few days now, and you can still smell that fish stew, gees! The only entertainment I get is that stupid cat yowling to go outdoors, and as soon as I open the door, he runs out sniffing the air, and then he yowls big time because he doesn't know where the fish are. Yup.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Though we live in the woods and wilds of New Hampshire, we do have a close-knit relationship with the four closest neighbours, which, if you consider we are all ten acres apart, isn't that close, especially when trees separate most of us. You can't see your neighbour to wave hello to. That aside, the crazy neighbours on the hill had a milestone birthday coming up. The husband was turning 70 and still not retired. He LIKES working, he does, and well . . . anyway, his twenty years younger wife (you think she's the reason he LIKES working or HAS to?) decided to throw a small 70th birthday party for him. Being the accommodating neighbours we all are, we asked what we could bring.
Now Lois, our resident flasher neighbour, wanted to bring a "seafood medley," which is a bisque of all sorts of fish thrown in a big pot where all the different fishy flavours steep together to make a relatively hardy soup or maybe it is a stew, I don't know which. We have all had this "seafood medley" at one time or another, and Harriet (the old guy's young wife), knowing this, told Lois it was a brilliant idea to bring that dish to the party.
About 30 minutes before we were all expected, Lois called and asked if I'd come up and help her because she made a giant pot of her fishy soup or stew, and so being me, the nice guy, I left Tonya to go on her own and was getting ready to go on up to Lois's when there was a knock on the door. I thought Tonya had forgotten her keys or something so I ran to the door and who was there? Not Tonya, but the young whippersnapper. His appearances at me abode are becoming more frequent, and I almost think he wants to move in with us.
He was dressed not in his usual British snappy designer clothing, but he looked like an American. He had on his Celtics tee shirt, his Boston Red Sox baseball cap and his Patriot jacket. I got it; he supported his adopted hometown and was proud of her. I opened the door and asked him, "Have you just been released from somewhere?"
"Nope, nope, noppers, just heah in da bestie citie in da whole worl and thought I'd tool on uppie ta see yer arse."
"Yup, I can see that," I said with a quick gesture to his kit as I let him in. The young whippersnapper asked for a Sam Adams (further showing his support of Boston), and having a few minutes, I thought it was the least I could do.
"So you've been here and I will assume you have been helping out somehow?" I said, handing him the beer.
"Ya knoz it. Can't let me peeps down." He said, toasting "his peeps," aka the people of Boston.
"I know you well enough you'll be here until you think they don't need you." I took a sip of the beer; yeah, I got a bottle, too.
"Welly, dey dunzint needies me much, dey iz pretty resilient all on dere own."
"Look," I said, looking at him hard, "could you just this once speak in English? I know you think that lingo is cool and all, but really? Considering?"
"Okie dokie jus fur you."
"So how's me "junk" doing?" I asked, thinking of all me stuff that went off into a dark night headed for the snow country of Colorado.
"OH yeah, THAT," says he with a grin, "I sold every last bit of it. And ya know what? Yer jacket fetched the most."
"You never did," I said, horrified.
"Actually, I sold it all ta Wolfie, so it stays in da family. Now alls ya hazt ta do iz buy it backie."
"Stop it. How is it really? You put it up someplace safe? Where YOUR wife won't throw it out?"
"Gabbie, yer trust in me is sadly lacking." He feigned hurt.
I knew this conversation would go on and on, so I cut to the chase and told him I had to leave. He looked all put out, so I told him he could stay at me abode until I got back. That further threw him into a slight sulk.
"Okay, what's one more, eh? Here," I said, getting a six-pack of Samuel Adams and handing it to him, "take this. You can present that as a gift or something to buy your way in."
"I can pay my way in." He said with a grin.
"Just take this. We must go to Lois's to help transport a large pot of fish stew." I said, grabbing me jacket and starting for the door.
"Iz she da one nevah wears clothes?" He asked, shutting the door behind him.
"Yup, that's the one. But she's fully dressed, or at least she better be, so I know you'll be disappointed."
"Da day iz young." Said he with a smile as we walked up the path toward Lois's.
We were no more than 60 feet away, and the smell of fish hit us smack in the nostrils. Both of us mumbled it smelled like a harbour, but we made our way to the door despite it. Lois had the screen door half cracked. I guess to help the wafting fish smell disperse.
"I betcha ya can smelly dis fishy stink all over da hill here," Weasil said, holding his breath.
I knocked, and Lois came straight away. She apologised for the smell.
"I had a mess of fish I chopped up. The pot has been on the heat for hours, breaking the meat down." She muttered, getting herself into her raincoat, which scares me because I remember the first time I met . . . correction . . . SAW her. I had been on the riding mower where a little bit of lawn meets up with her sheep pasture, and she was on her mower. I waved in friendly greeting, not having met her before, and she opened that damn raincoat and flashed me, causing me to fall off me mower and hit me head as she laughed her ample backside off and kept on mowing. I tell ya!
The pot was freaking heavy. I was glad of Weasil's being there as I had him take one handle and I took the other, and between us, we heaved it on out the door, Lois taking the six-pack. The pot was steaming the entire way to the crazy couple's house, and by the time we got there, I could hardly smell the fish because I had gotten used to it, but not Weasil; he was grumbling, he smelled like a red herring, and he thought we were doing a bad thing by toting the pot into the crazy couple's house because we were about to stink the place up with boiled fish. I shushed him long enough to catch up with Lois, who was already at the couple's door going inside.
"I hope she tastied dis befur she presents it ta everyone cuz it iz too fishy smellin' Gabbie, and we all gonner git sick," Weasil said as we approached the doorway. Harriet had been standing there greeting people, and when Lois had got up to her, her face had changed from a smile to a not-so-sure look. Like, what is that smell kind of look. I had been too busy listening to Weasil to think what Lois (who had spent hours with that fish smell) must really smell like when it dawned on me that Weas and I probably stank of fish since we had been in Lois's house no short while. Oi!
And I was right because as soon as we made it to the door, Harriet took several steps backwards. Her eyebrows had receded into her hairline and she coughed, but she put her hand to her nose, not her mouth.
"Sorry," I whispered, "but Lois . . . "
"Say no more," she gasped, "Just put it in the kitchen . . . quickly." And she disappeared. When I saw her again she had glade candles she had lit and was strategically placed about the rooms.
We did step in, Weasil's appearance going utterly unnoticed because the smell was more the thing.
As guests started arriving, there were a lot of questions about fish; the smell had permeated the entire house, and all of us (some more than others) smelt like fish. Weasil's words of warning had taken hold, and as I went to talk to Lois, I was grabbed by Tonya, who said, "Is that fish off? I mean, is it fresh?"
"How would I know? I didn't make it. But let me go ask before we all end up in hospital." And off I went to where Lois was holding court. It took me a few minutes to finally get her to meself, and I asked her right out if the fish were fresh.
"Oh, Gabe, you are funny. Yeah, I caught them myself." She joked. I guess it was the look on me face that stopped the levity, and she said more seriously, "I had fresh cod and haddock, but the crab and lobstah were frozen. My secrets out, huh?"
"How frozen is frozen?" I whispered politely.
"Well . . . let me see now, I think they have been in my freezah far six yeeahs," and she laughed when she saw me eyes get big. She said, "Okay, I think eight months. Yup, eight months."
I stood there calculating in the uneducated culinary part of me brain that eight months on fish or anything was too long. I shrugged to her unasked question and then put a finger up that I'd be right back. I went looking for the wife and whispered the question on my and Lois's mind.
Tonya pulled me to the side and whispered, "Well, as far as I know from my mother, any "fatty fish" lasts two or three months. Did she put salmon and tuna in the stew?" I shook me head. "Okay, I was told that lean fish will keep for maybe six months, but that's pushing it because the flavour will fade. Did she use cod?"
I nodded and told her THAT was fresh. It's the crab and lobster that were in question.
"Ohhh, I see," Tonya said, her eyes big. "Shellfish. Em . . . "
"Egg-zactly." I nodded.
"I've been told two days refrigerated, and if frozen, and it doesn't smell, it's probably okay, but I don't really know. But Gabe, that fish dish stinks; I can't think the fish are any good. She'll poison all of us if it isn't. And I don't know that anyone wants any of that stew or soup, but we have to keep people from being polite and trying it."
Meanwhile, behind me was Weasil talking to some pretty young thing, and I overheard THIS said to the young thing who thought him too good to be true (because he was): "I'm not married, and I don't get out much."
Besides the soup being dished out, HE had to be stopped from dishing out the lies. I was in a quandary I was. I grabbed him and, through clenched teeth, told him I needed to talk to him it was important. He smoothly did excuse himself, but he'd be right back. Oh boy. We went out back, and I told him quickly he was probably right about the fish stew. We needed to get that pot and accidentally spill it or do something.
"YOU could take a taste and say it needies more saltie, and I could beforehand unscrew the saltie cellar and then pour it in, ruining it." He said brightly.
"Not bad. Hey, wait a minute, why don't YOU do the tasting?"
"Gabbie, yah smell like a fish hatchery. Wait a sec." He said, digging in his pockets and bringing out spray breath freshener, which he proceeded to spray me with. I grabbed it away.
"Really? Because you smell like a fish and chips joint." I said, threatening to spray him back.
"Please do. I smell like you."
So I gave it back to him, he sprayed his hair and his underarms, and basically, I stood there trying to inhale fresh air when I saw people moving toward the table. I grabbed him and pulled him in with me, "Get the salt cellar and get it ready," I said, moving quickly to the head of the line.
I be sure me neighbours were not happy about me shoving them aside, but right behind me was Weasil and he had unscrewed the salt cellar. I saw Lois watching me, so I made to inhale the stew or bisque or whatever it was as if it smelled great. Tonya was beside Lois, and I knew she knew I was putting on a show. She wasn't sure what I was up to, but she knew I was up to something because Weasil was right by me side, AND THAT spells trouble.
So I got a spoon and dipped in the broth or bisque or whatever and took a tentative taste and made it like I was savouring the taste. But to be honest, it did taste off, so it was not without trepidation I announced it needed more salt!
Weasil had brought the salt cellar out like it magically appeared in his hand, but someone shouted, "It's fish it won't need salt, you'll ruin it."
Uh oh. I looked at Weasil, and his hand was raised over the pot in mid-air when he suddenly feigned a coughing fit where the salt shaker shook in his hand and as the spasm took him, the top flew off and he dropped the entire shaker in the soup, or stew or whatever.
There was a collective gasp as Lois ran forward to rescue the stew. I was pounding the young whippersnapper on the back as Lois fished out the empty salt cellar, and I watched in horror as she grabbed another spoon and stirred it around.
"Tastie dat first before ya serves it," Weasil choked.
She did and declared it, "Even bettah!" And smiled all around.
Weasil and I were frozen as our eyes met, and we knew she had to be stopped, but our best ploy didn't work. We didn't have a Plan B! But just as I thought we were all about to be hospitalised from poison stew, Harriet had (while Weasil and I were conspiring), got a few fans out and turned them on to circulate the fish smell out the open windows. It was pretty cool in that house, I must say, as a result, but as she turned on the last fan, which was aimed at the pot of fish poison, Weasil had a dastardly insane idea, and I knew it!
"Don't do anything too insane," there I voiced it.
"Insanity iz da new black Gabbie," he said and as the wind from the whirling blades hit him, he made like he lost his balance, and as he was going down, he grabbed not onto me, but the stew pot and SPLAT there he was on the floor covered in crab and lobster shells, bits of fish and a gooey liquid to top it off. It took all three seconds for him to realise the stuff was HOT! He jumped up, dancing around, pulling off his clothes much to Lois's appreciation, being a connoisseur of flashing people when they least expect it. I got him outside as Harriet's birthday boy came right behind and turned the hose on Weasil. Poor Weas went from instantly burning to colder than a witch's tit on a snowy day!
I have never seen him move so fast, well, never seen anyone move that fast, but he took off like a bat out of hell and me after him. I figured I wanted nothing to do with the cleanup on aisle nine and would rather get Weasil into dry clothing before he caught his death. More importantly, make sure he wasn't a burnt mess and needing a ride to the hospital.
As soon as he made me yard, me stupid setter caught a whiff of the fish smell, and as Weasil ran past, he was tackled by the setter whose tongue was busy licking the goo off Weasil's face.
"NOOO," he yelled as I got to the setter and pulled her off, "stupid hound will git sick!" He said, getting up as I closed the dog in the garden shed. You could hear her scratching at the shed door and whining and barking she wanted that fish stuff. Oi!
We went inside, where Weasil looked his rather red torso over and pronounced he was "good to go," and I told him to go shower, and I'd get some dry clothes and stick his gooey ones in the washer. I dunno about him sometimes.
I rang Tonya, who was about to leave to come to help us, but I told her to stay and that Weasil was fine. I also said if she didn't mind, we'd not be back, so please to give excuses. She said she would, she understood the sacrifice Weasil made even if no one else did, but she said Harriet knew and said to tell Weasil "thank you for not letting her get sued for serving poison fish stew."
"So you took one for the team," I said as Weasil reappeared dressed and smelling like soap instead of fish.
"I did at dat." He said, going to me fridge and getting a beer for him and one for me. "You need to shower as well, ya still smell like fish."
We clinked bottles, and I left for a shower as he ordered a pizza. I did check on the dog and let her out; she's okay; she didn't ingest much to make her sick. But the cat, now the cat, was an entirely different story. Mr. Kits walked around us yowling because he could still smell that stuff. He would not leave us alone. As a matter of fact, he stood on the dryer while Weasil's clothes were drying, letting us know he knew the fish was in the dryer. I tell ya!
The pizza arrived, and we took it out on the back porch to get away from the cat. I had replenished our beers and could still smell fish. I thought it was all in me head. I even asked Weasil if he was still smelling fish, and he said he was, with a sigh added to emphasise the hopelessness of it all. As I opened the pizza, I got a more pungent whiff of fish, which stopped me as I looked around and then thinking it was all still in me mind, I fully opened the pizza box to find . . . an anchovy pizza!
I wanted to take that box over the Weasil's head, but I got the joke. Though I could hardly eat that fishy treat from the overpowering smell wafting the breeze toward us from Lois's abode on the hill.
"Will smell awful for years up there," Weasil said.
"Yup, it will," I said, lifting the fish off me slice of pizza.
"And YOU and yers will be smelling that . . . prolly fer a longgg longgg time."
I took the three anchovies I had "fished" off me pie and put them on his slice. He didn't care; he chowed down and made all kinds of references to fish. I won't tell you what they were. They got dirtier and dirtier as we devoured the pie.
The only good thing is that he couldn't stand the smell, so he left for Boston. And if I wasn't a married sod, I'd have gone with him because it's been a few days now, and you can still smell that fish stew, gees! The only entertainment I get is that stupid cat yowling to go outdoors, and as soon as I open the door, he runs out sniffing the air, and then he yowls big time because he doesn't know where the fish are. Yup.
Gabe
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6 comments:
ROFLMAO
AW heck! why didn't the dog do a little chewing on Mr. W?LOL
He sounds like he was almost well done!
Pretty much he was
lol on Weasil! glad your family member was located. must have been an intense couple days.
Boston baby! Yeah!
Don't ever want to go through that again, thanks.
I don't think fish will be on the menu tonight for me. I can almost smell it from here! Good on Weasil for saving the day wearing his new fish outfit! LOL
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