Every now and then one member of the family manages to visit a proclivity on the rest of us, and before you know it, we’re all loving or doing the same thing. Hey, I never used to be a HUGE fan of fish. I mean, I liked fish just fine. I cooked it occasionally. But it was never one of my big things.
Back when Monkey still lived on big cups of milk and butter-slathered bread crusts and turned up his nose at nearly everything else, he refused to eat beef. Or pork. Or chicken. Or anything with any protein at all, which caused me to fret that he would forever be just three feet tall and spindly. And one day I made some fish and put some on his plate and then had a small myocardial infarction when he shoveled it all into his mouth and asked for more. Thus a fish-lover was born, and although he is now three-and-a-HALF feet tall and spindly, we consume a lot of fish.
It also gives our family an awesome party trick; ask the kids what they’d like to eat RIGHT NOW if they could have anything at all, and Chickadee will start rattling off “Cake! Ice cream! CAAAAANDY!” while Monkey’s eye glaze over with longing and he sighs, “Saaaaaaaalmon!”
(Hey, I never said my kids were NORMAL.)
Now we eat fish all the time. Broiled fish! Grilled fish! Baked fish! All kinds of fish! And SHRIMP, oh how we love shrimp! Monkey is still waxing nostalgic about the time I bought some shark because it was on sale. He LOVED it. (Me, I found it a little too chewy for my taste. Lesson learned.) We could be doing our own Dr. Seuss book over here, is my point.
I would like fish on a plate.
I would love fish on our date.
I’m a pescetarian!
Say, what’s that in your aquarium?
So here I am, cooking up all sorts of fish in all sorts of different ways, and yet every time we get take-out from our local hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint, what do I get? Fish tacos. The kids always used to get quesadillas, but then Chickadee moved on to beef tacos and then one day I let Monkey taste my food and now he, too, harbors a deep love for the fish taco.
I’d only overpaid for those fish tacos about four hundred times before it occurred to me that I could probably, you know, make them here at home. DUH.
So that’s what I did. I had GRAND PLANS for fish tacos for last night, and the entire family was ALL EXCITED, because our lives are boring and we love us some fish tacos.
Anyway. There was just a couple of little problems.
First of all, yesterday sucked hairy donkey balls for various reasons and I’d gotten very little sleep the night before and was busy—as I noted in yesterday’s post—hating everyone and everything.
Second, I was having a small problem of the female variety. (You’re welcome!)
See, the great thing about having a total hysterectomy is no more mood swings! No more bleeding! Life is easy and predictable!
The bad thing about having a total hysterectomy, though, is that I still require estrogen to function without feasting on the spleen of every annoying human I encounter. And that wouldn’t be a problem except that my insurance sucks and my body sucks.
See, I used to use hormone patches. And that was fine—great, even—for a while. Then I started getting all itchy from the adhesive and I had to stop using them. I tried a couple of other things before settling on estrogen gel, which comes in a pump container and gets rubbed into your legs each morning. (It puts the hormones on its skin!) The pump containers are OPAQUE and it is, therefore, impossible to tell when you’re running low.
A smarter person would just put renewal dates on her calendar. Ahem.
ANYWAY, I realized I was running low, and I also realized that I wanted to switch pharmacies, because once upon a time I picked a pharmacy across town because it’s next door to a place with good bagels. (Hey, I have priorities; sue me.) I reasoned at the time that I was likely to want a nice bagel once a month, and this would work out just fine. And it did, for a while, but then gas went up to a hundred dollars a gallon and frankly, I DON’T NEED A BAGEL THAT BADLY.
So I called both pharmacies, I transferred the prescription, and then I ran out on the day I was to pick it up. Perfect timing! Except not, because the new pharmacy hadn’t actually filled my prescription. “It’s discontinued,” the pharmacist told me, when I showed up to get it.
My first thought: Must. Control. Fists. Of. Death.
My second thought: Oh, didn’t this happen before? I think it did.
My third thought: WTF? These people called and told me to come pick it up and they don’t even HAVE it?
My fourth thought: Damn, I haven’t used the fists of death in a LONG TIME.
“It is NOT discontinued,” I informed the pharmacist. “It is merely written for a SIZE that is discontinued. Instead of one large one you have to order two small ones. Um, I am completely out of my medication, when do you think you can get this in?”
“Maybe by tomorrow afternoon.”
And this all may seem very disjointed but my POINT here is that on a busy, sucky day I found myself making fish tacos when I hadn’t had any sanity-granting hormones for a couple of days. The pharmacy did manage to pull their heads out of their asses and my darling husband picked up my estrogen for me, and last night as we enjoyed some delicious fish tacos I was SORELY TEMPTED to top them with estrogen gel, but in the end I settled for some diced avocado and just applying the gel to my skin as usual.
I should be sane again by tomorrow, but I’m afraid we pretty much snarfed up all of the fish tacos. Sorry.