At lunch yesterday my dad walked through our back door into our kitchen and told my mom and I that we’d be having crayfish for dinner the next night. Having thought nothing of it I set it aside in my mind and went about my day. Today I spent the past 3 hours watching video-essays and true crime videos only to hear the inevitable “Dinner’s ready!” downstairs from my mom.
I walked down the stairs through my dining room and saw the horror I had heard of just the day before. A big silver metal tray filled with small red bug-like creatures, boiled with corn and sausages. Their dark red claws and little antennae jutting forward from their tiny bodies, and their black bug eyes starring dead into my soul. I sat at my dinner table and attempted to eat my burger without getting too grossed out, not looking up from my plate even when speaking. Eventually, I look to my right and see my little brother putting one of their little faces next to mine, moving its little claws.
And that’s when I almost vomited. After that I spent the rest of dinner sitting alone to the side with my plate on my lap like it was a table.
Call me crazy, but I seriously hate shellfish (and honestly all seafood). Ever since I was little I’ve always gotten so grossed out when people ate crab or lobster. Just seeing their little buggy eyes and hearing the crack and crunch of their claws when people eat them is enough to leave me reeling. For the longest time I had no idea why, but now I’m beginning to understand.
I always say I’m constantly bordering becoming a vegetarian because just the thought of eating a burger or a steak and remembering that it was once alive is tear-jerking for me. Like Mr. Rogers said, “I won’t eat anything that has a mother.” I really resonate with that ideology. So seeing the dead little faces of shellfish and remembering that they were once alive and were killed purely to be eaten makes my toes curl!
Obviously, I’m not beating on people who enjoy seafood. If you like to eat it that’s perfectly ok with me. God put them on this earth for sustenance. I just won’t be partaking in those feasts with you.
Likewise though, I have my own guilty pleasures. Like putting ketchup on scrambled eggs or fries in my chicken salad. Or that one night I laid in my bed for 3 hours eating croutons and reading otome.
In the end of it all, we’re all disgusting animals.