cooking fish in the house

I'll be honest: I'm probably not easy to live with.  I have a lots of excellent attributes, I'm sure, but along with those come a lot of rules and preferences that probably make me a total pain in ass when it comes to cohabitating.  That's not to say that I insist on ALL of my rules and preferences.  Some of them are observed -- enforced, if you will -- but others I just let go, quietly re-arranging things to suit me without insisting that anyone do it my way.

But if I had my way, no one would ever cook fish in the house.

Don't get me wrong: I do love to eat it.  And I can hardly complain about getting home last night after a thoroughly irritating day at work, then a hair appointment, then waiting in the dark by myself for AAA to come fix a flat tire that I inflicted on myself by bumping a curb while parking in a hurry to get to said-appointment, getting home last night after all that to a dinner that was not only already made, but also plated and delicious, prep dishes all washed, the butcher paper that wrapped the fish carried directly to the outside garbage.

So many rules followed, preferences respected in all of that! Such an expression of love and the habit of a long life in partnership.  That's super-sweet in my book.

Except that this morning I can't help but be bothered by the smell of fish lingering in the air, wondering if that smell will be gone by the time I get home from work today or, please, by the time we host Christmas Eve.

And to think that yesterday the housekeeper came, so there might have been this unsullied smell of clean. But for the fish.

Fish that was delicious, I remind myself. Fish that hit the spot.

But fish that lingers.

As much as I wish I weren't still smelling it, as much as I wish that I didn't have this wish (to be indulged when Joe leaves for work) to spray the kitchen down and thoroughly scrub every surface of any possibility of fishy residue, as much as I wish that fish had been cooked outside, STILL I'm so grateful for what I was served last night: yes, a delicious meal, but mostly love on a plate, love that still lingers, a little fishy, filling me with each breath, just as it should.

 XX

Comments

[Middle-aged-diva (carol)]

I have the same problem. It's winter, though, and I won't be cooking fish like that for a while!