Fish face

I was putting some dishes away yesterday and it reminded me of a time about a year ago that Boyfriend crossed the line in a horrendous way. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure I could have sued Boyfriend for what he did. Oh you'll read it and you'll agree. And this one is one thousand percent his fault entirely, not just me figuring out how it was his fault. Be warned. It's heinous.

Where to start? Boyfriend gave me fish face. Well that wasn't much of a reaction from you. Maybe you don't understand what I mean. He cut off a fish's face, gift wrapped it, and gave it to me as a girlfriend of the year present. With a bow. I should've known something was up because this man doesn't wrap anything. Ever. We had to go nine rounds in a boxing ring in order for him to wrap my Christmas presents last year. Trust me when I say that reconstructive surgery on my jaw was worth it. Okay, this whole paragraph is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Except the fish face part. That was real. But I don't mean it in the way I said above. Let me start over. This is the story of how Boyfriend gave me fish face. Last summer, Boyfriend bought enough salmon to start his own farm. He filleted (I'm pretty sure this is the right word, but my bad if this proves to be incorrect) and vac-sealed them into their own nice little plastic packages. The dude is like a one-man assembly line. I'm surprised Santa hasn't abducted him to work as an elf in one of his sweat shops. Santa would probably have to tell people he has a pituitary gland problem to explain the height, but such is life. Boyfriend does good work. Yeah, the filleting. One more side note, I know this is pronounced fill-ay, but I keep getting flashbacks of Ma at a gas station saying fill it up. Fill it. Fill it. Back to my kitchen that I'm not allowed to go in: Boyfriend gives a ton of this fish away and we still have enough to fill [it (Oh my god, I'm a loser and I don't mean in the sense of my last post. One more time for the kids in the back: fill it. It's like a nervous tick resounding in my head, I swear.)] our freezer. And by freezer I don't mean the one that's part of the fridge. That's where my ice cream goes. I mean a freezer freezer. Fills it to the brim with fish. I think, cool, I like salmon. We're going to eat like queens! ...King and a queen. We're going to eat like a king and queen. No plural on the feminine noun there. My bad.

The thing about salmon is that salmon have those little tiny bones. They don't make for fun eating if you chomp down on one of those suckers. Plus, it's kind of a downer for omnivores and carnivores alike because bones make you remember that what you're eating used to be an animal. Or celebrity. Anyways, Boyfriend, being the skilled master of the kitchen he is, magically does away with these bones. Seriously, he does an amazing job. Not sure why this didn't raise any questions before I walked into the kitchen that awful day.

As per our usual routine, I'm as far away from the kitchen as possible while he's slaving away. I feel like this particular time I was in the bedroom, not that it's important, but I feel that it's necessary to illustrate that I needed to enter the kitchen to see what was up. We'll say I was admiring my shoe collection, because likely that is what I was doing, when Boyfriend yells, Your tweezers work great. I get a visual in my head of Boyfriend in the bathroom mirror plucking some unsightly hairs from his face. I say face even though for a split second I envisioned another area of his body being introduced to my tweezers. I stop what I'm doing and start toward the bathroom when I catch sight of him in the kitchen. Obviously I didn't hear him right.

What did you just say?
I said your tweezers work great.

Confuse me? I enter the kitchen and see him hunched over a salmon fill it (you know what I mean), with my tweezers in hand, gently coaxing a small bone out of the fish. This is more horrifying than getting a gift wrapped fish head.

What are you doing?
How do you think I get the bones out?
Dude. I use those on my eyebrows. Those touch my face.
You never complained that I used them for this before.
If I knew you used them before I would have She-Hulked long ago. I am going to annihilate you. You gave me fish face. How did this become a good idea? What the...you can't be serious... Boyfriend... run. Get away from me before I lunge at you and take you outside and beat you in front of the neighbours (I didn't this time).
I always wash them before I put them back.

Boys, special attention here please: DO NOT EVER DO THIS. Nowhere is this okay. In no instance ever is this acceptable behaviour. You know what this is? The triple B. BBB. Bad Boyfriend Behaviour. And the punishment is a good ol' fashioned beat down from the frenzied fists of your beloved. Even writing this and remembering how angry I was I kind of want to go into the bedroom and smother you in your sleep right now Boyfriend. Be thankful I'm a sucker for your pretty face... your chiseled, manly face. If you're awake to read this tomorrow I would appreciate a thank-you for letting you live another day. You gave me fish face, c'mon. And just because I had two pairs does not mean that one is reserved for your fish friends. Unless they have a unibrow there will be no sharing tweezers. That would be like me using your brush on the cat... wait... I did that to somebody before. I know I was busted doing it, but just for good measure and a clean conscience, whoever's hairbrush I used to groom my cat, I'm ever so sorry, but karma gave me fish face, so...

This concludes the story of how Boyfriend acquired his kitchen tweezers. Wait, that wasn't what the story was called, but it is the ending. Now whenever I see them I cringe. And, I suppose this would be the happily-ever-after or life lesson part of the post: We now have a rule in our house. We ask before we use each other's bathroom stuff, don't we Boyfriend? Please don't ever let me catch you using my tampons.

Time for tea,

K