A Meat Snowball

Let me explain to you how my answer to “What is that?” snowballed into me doing something I really don’t like.

My landlady was cooking all day for around 20 members of her family who were coming over for dinner. She had cleaned, swept, mopped and even painted outside the day before. All that was left to do was cook the food. I couldn’t imagine cooking for that many people. Especially from scratch!!

I thought I’d offer to help her with anything that I could help with. She told me to sit and wait. So I did. While I was waiting, one of the kids began to ask 20 questions. I had gotten some bags we had to cook meat in but they weren’t what they wanted. So he began to ask a million questions about the bags.

Kid: What are those?

Me: Bags to cook meat in.

Kid: You don’t want them?

Me: No I don’t use them.

Kid: Why don’t you use them?

Me: Because I don’t eat meat.

Kid: You don’t eat meat?

Me: No. I like meat. I eat meat. I don’t cook meat.

Kid: You don’t cook meat?

At this point, his cousin was getting tired of listening to this conversation and shouted at him, “No. She eats meat. She likes meat. She doesn’t cook meat. She doesn’t know how to cook meat.”

My landlady and her sister only heard the “she doesn’t know how to cook meat” part. I tried to tell them the reason I don’t cook meat is because I don’t like to touch raw meat (it feels really weird). But it came out more like “I don’t cook meat with beginning because it is ewwwww.” (I need to learn a few more words. Also. I don’t think eww translated well for me.)

So I then was, of course, volunteered to help with, you guessed it. The meat. Luckily it was some form of meat that wasn’t too squishy or bloody as in fresh off the animal or icky or the kind where you have to pull out a bunch of insides. I only had to season them and flip them over. So I survived. And lived to tell about it.

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