cadavers over dinner

 {phlegm: a love story chronicles Y's finer moments as a true romantic scientist. See the rest of the love story here.}



The girl and the boy sit close to each other in a corner booth. It's their anniversary dinner, and they've chosen a popular new restaurant that specializes in meat and bourbon. The boy has a beer, the girl has a champagne cocktail. They toast to three years of marriage and two months in their new house. 


The waitress sets down a platter of exotic meats. She points to each one. "Pickled heart macella, summer truffle sausage, turkey braunschweiger, wild boar head cheese." Translation: beef heart, sausage, turkey liver pate, and boiled boar head.


The girl gingerly takes a bite of sausage, the one thing that appears safe. The boy takes a bite of pickled heart and nods approvingly. "This is delicious." The girl tentatively pokes at it with her fork, working up the courage to take a bite. 


The boy continues. "This is actually really tender. I would expect heart muscle to be tougher than this, since cutting through a cadaver heart is so difficult. Now the psoas muscle --on an animal, that's where you get a filet, and the human muscle is similar -- you can slice right through that muscle."


The girl vomits.


Just kidding. The girl is used to this. She smiles, nods, and does not eat the pickled heart macella. 

maturity



I'll be back with some more Holland pictures next week, but I wanted to brag about a really mature decision I made.

Y got a list of his new co-workers last week, complete with pictures. The people he'll be spending approximately 112% of his time with. 

And I've decided that I am not going to Facebook stalk them. 

I know, right? Some major restraint on my part.

I just couldn't take Ike's judgmental eyes anymore.