Trauma at the dinner table

Monday:

Last night, after having people over for BBQ lunch and feeling sick all day but then having a nice nap while Tim took the kids out Christmas shopping, I made roast beef for dinner. Sunday night is always roast night, and although I wasn't really hungry I was looking forward to it. I found the cooking process pretty tiring and I was feeling a bit worn out and grumpy as I got up from the table to get myself a drink after dishing out for everyone. When I got back to my seat, I saw a huge fly take off from my plate. I was pretty sure it had been on my roast beef. Gross, I thought, deciding not to eat that end of the slice.

I sat down and looked at it. At the squirming pile of tiny fly maggots writhing on my roast beef. OMG. With my hand over my mouth, I thrust my plate away and fled from the room, yelling at my husband to get rid of it for me. I sat on my bed and had a hysterical cry. I guess I was already overwrought from the exhausting day, and the shock of revulsion was just too much. Tim came in and I managed to explain what was wrong; he went and looked then came back to say he couldn't see anything. I went out and showed him, they had spread out a bit but still obvious to my horrified eyes. So he threw it out for me and that was dinner over with for me. I did have a couple of pieces of potato later, but I couldn't face the beef even though it was nicely covered in foil the whole time it had been out of the oven.

I know I am very lucky to be able to be so precious about having pristine food. Apparently 75% of Australians are in the top 10% of wealth in the world; and we are certainly in that demographic. I can afford to throw away food that a fly has laid its revolting babies on. And I will.

photo by Gerald Yuvallos