WARNING – readers of a nervous disposition may find this post distasteful. No sex, nudity or rude words but…
I was brought up with the worthy Scottish principle of “frugality”. My Granny and my mother used to repeat “Wilful waste makes woeful want” and then launch into a maudlin poem.
So I’ve been conditioned to cut out the bad bits of fruit and veg, using the still-consumable portions. Make do and mend. Save the buttons of moth-eaten cardigans.
Well it got up and bit me in the bum tonight. A piece of cheese that had some rather unsavoury looking edges was pressed into service for supper as part of the salad. I dutifully chopped away the sides and then realised that some of the rind was making its way to the edge of the chopping board. Maggots.
I want you to imagine this in a sit-com episode complete with screaming, retching sounds and probably someone standing on a chair. I calmed him down. I used to be a vet nurse and have had to deal with fly-blown critters before. Maggots are actually rather useful if properly used but that is a different matter and I won’t make you feel any more queasy.
With scrupulous care, I cleaned up the area while my husband pointed with a knife “There’s another one, he’s getting away!” I fully expected him to start attacking them by blade. A maggot-hunt wasn’t what I had planned for this evening but it was an amusing diversion…right up to the moment when I discovered that the Christopher Columbus of the pre-fly larvae had escaped, right into my salad.
OK, I admit it, I just threw the rest in the bin. There are limits. Even for ex vet nurses, even for frugal Scots. I’ll pig out on ice cream instead.