On Sunday, Brian and I took Helen with us to a friend's house for a SuperBowl party. We brought the required football snacks - namely, some shrimp (a fresh catch from the grocery store that morning). I make a mean cocktail sauce, so we were looking forward to enjoying some good food and company.
Upon arrival, I counted kids. There were 6 altogether, which ups the noise factor by a factor of 25. Aside from the 7-month old daughter of the party hosts, Helen was the youngest. She's not the best on stairs, so after we got the food set up (more on that later), I kept running up to check on her. There was a gigantic playroom upstairs, complete with a kiddie electric train set which I enjoyed more than anyone. The three oldest boys were watching Cars, in between figuring out how to cause maximum damage to each other with minimum parental involvement. Making sure Helen didn't get caught in the crossfire so meant missing most of the first half and about 90% of the commercials.
Thank god for the internet. Everything from SuperBowl Sunday is listed on ifilm.com, so I'm totally caught up.
Back to the food. As we were unpacking everything, I unwrapped the seafood and noticed something odd. The shrimp didn't look - well, COOKED. So I asked Brian, "Hey, did you get these steamed, or are the shrimp raw?" Oh no, he assured me they were cooked. Doubtful, I picked one up and watched it sort of flop over. He said, "I think you're used to the grey shrimp, but these are the pink kind, and they are cooked." To test it, he peeled one, dipped it in cocktail sauce and ate it.
If you've met my husband, you already knew those shrimp were raw.
About an hour later, Brian was decidedly not feeling well. Of course, with Peyton Manning's pride on the line, we didn't leave the party until the game was over. But when the game was over, we were speeding down the interstate.
Two days later, he's still trying to get the taste of raw shrimp out of his mouth. And oh, how I giggled - to myself, of course.