Sunday, August 28, 2011


(Pre-Script: This post should be read as the song, "Good Intentions," #22 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

The other day, I bought the wrong sardines.

"But Michelle, how did you know you had bought the wrong sardines?"

Gentle reader, if I am saying I bought the wrong sardines, safely assume it means that it doesn't take a B.S. in Molecular Biology to figure out that you have bought the wrong sardines.


It happened because I was in Lucky's, not Trader Joe's, where I usually buy them. But although the package said "Sardines in olive oil," just like the kind I usually buy, I should have been concerned when I didn't see the word "skinless" on the wrapper. Instead, I figured that since with the skin on, the sardines would look like puke in a can, that no one would have the lack of sense to try to sell them to live humans that way. How often will I have to pay for my assumptions that humanity will, in the end, do the right thing? Or at least, do the very thing that I would do? I don't know, but suddenly, it was that afternoon, and I was finally taking my lunch break at work. I took my break late, so by the time I sat down to eat, I was hungry enough to devour, in more of a lion like than lady like manner, both of the cans of sardines I had had the foresight to keep in my purse.

But then I opened the first can. And what I saw when I opened that can looked like something Jesus and his disciples had just flung out of the Sea of Galilee onto the shore with their heavy overburdened net, then sat by the fire whistling and counting as they threw sardines any old which way. From the look of it, not much else was done to the massacred fish by way of cleaning and care. I didn't even open the second can or blink when I threw it away with the first.
Always read labels and between the lines.

But if certain key lines aren't there to be read afraid.

Be very afraid.


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