I just ate a salad! (See the previous blog post for food dissatisfaction) Romaine hearts, cucumber, yellow capsicum pepper, an apple and some LA galbi. Fuck me dead and bury me pregnant. It was awfully good. The galbi was divine. The capsicum added a tart freshness, the cucumber offered texture, the apple made divine crunching noises as I mowed it down. The romaine hearts, less appetizing and dare I suggest a little more welcome to a goat or any other ruminant. For myself, I felt that more galbi would be the way forward. In fact, if all the other ingredients vanished and only the galbi remained, it might have been the perfect Saturday evening meal.
There were just the 2 of us in the house this evening. Dysonator and her sister buggered off to 할머니’s (Korean Grandmother’s) house for the evening with flat headed nephew 1. They had been at the house all afternoon and much as I enjoyed their company, the tummy rubs and enormous flattery regarding my handsomeness, it did start to wear after a while. All I really wanted to do was sleep and let slip the occasional fart.
As I said I would in my previous blog, I began my hunger strike about 2 pm. Just after lunch. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I thought it would take until about 8 pm before they realized that anything was amiss. Then The Dysonator went out. A quick reappraisal of the situation and I figured it would be at least tomorrow morning before The Big Dude noticed I was off my food. At about 6.30 he made his way to the kitchen. He moaned and groaned the whole way there. He is hurt. He went to the gym this morning and looked at people working out. I suspect that he pulled a muscle or 2 in sympathy. Poor bastard. At least he made the effort.
After a lot of fucking about in front of the fridge and some lasagna yoga…taking the box out of the freezer and putting it back in a dozen or so times. The Big Dude got it into his head to start on a salad and galbi. He took down 2 bowls from the cupboard and my heart started to sing. Somehow he knew. Maybe he had read the blog. Maybe he has a great mind and, and, and no. I can’t finish that sentence and keep a straight face. Anyway, he chopped and sliced and peeled and cored, loaded the first bowl, got the olive oil and balsamic vinegar ready, the galbi galbied away on the gas range and the smells saturated the air. When the meat was ready, he placed it on top of the salad and transported it all to the table in the living room.
His phone rang. It made that horrendous cacophony it does whenever people want to talk to him. ‘The Imperial March’ I think he called it.
He wandered into the bedroom and threw himself down on the bed. I did a couple of slow back and forths. I checked on the bedroom, went back and made sure the salad hadn’t eloped, that kind of thing. The phone conversation was about tickets for the winter Olympics. Whatever they are. Anyway, I hadn’t eaten since lunch time and after waiting patiently for 30 – 35 seconds, practically an eternity in dog/food years, it was obvious he wasn’t going to come back before the romaine hearts wilted and the cucumbers sprouted. At this point, it seemed like bad manners not to enjoy the meal at its exquisite, mouthwatering peak! So I tucked it. Dear God, it was good.
The Big Dude went crazy. You would think I had ass fucked his favorite teddy bear the way he was carrying on. How was I supposed to know that micro-brain had meant to use the 2nd bowl as a bone receptacle? Humans. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t kill ’em.