Frog in the Pot

I am terrified of frogs. Even slaughtered ones. Being Chinese, it is to my embarassment that I have only hesitantly nibbled at the famous Frog Legs with Ginger and Spring Onion dish. And even after that I felt like fumigating my mouth for 2 weeks.

The most horrying experience I had with frogs was when one hopped and latched itself on my calf while I was walking on campus in Hawaii. I screamed and screamed in terror, ran and flagged helplessly. It was such a traumatic experience I don't even remember how the critter finally un-stuck itself.

I hate frogs. Dead or alive.

So when I hadda buy frogmeat in the market today to double-boil it for my hospitalised mom, I made sure I was 2 feet away from the cages filled with live frogs. I quickly made my purchase. The butcher was laughing away at me whilst she grabbed one fat belching frog, clubbed it senseless and continued with the slaughter.

I did not know how my face looked like at that moment, but the butcher's expression while looking at me was one of glee, maybe she was somewhat tickled at the tortured face of a reluctant buyer.

I took home three headless, skinless and webless frogs. The blood was still on them. Cleaned the carcasses up using a pair of disposable chopsticks and a cleaver. My brother and dad were not much help, they just stood and laughed at my fear of contact with dead amphibians. After much effort, one-and-a-half frog(s) ended up in the crockpot with slices of really bitter bittergourd.

I pity my mom who's gonna drink that.